The Danger of Paying Her Too Much Attention
by BettyMayLou
Summary: "She attracted him more than he liked... and, he resolved to be particularly careful that no sign of admiration should now escape him..." -Jane Austen
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Please note this is some tripe fluff. I'm still feeling a little silly for writing it, but I hope you enjoy if it is your cup of tea. It is rated M and there are most certainly some naughty bits! Please be aware before you read. I could never imagine writing something like this, but then there was a challenge, and I accepted, so...

Also, I have posted this on another site, so no worries that I have plagiarized someone else.

This work shouldn't be too long and it is actually kind of fun to write. *blushing*

Also, if you are following my other story, don't worry about this one - It will not be a distraction!

If you are under 18, please don't read! :) And, if you are 18+, don't judge too harshly for my vulgarity!

* * *

"Ohhh… Elizabeth… please…" There was a shudder among the rustle of covers.

The sound of a deep throat being cleared reverberated around the room. "Sir?"

Fitzwilliam Darcy crept from the mist of a faint dream and opened his eyes to the bleeding light of the morning and the amused face of his valet. How he wished he could go back to the place whence he just came.

"Good morning, Johnson. Have I overslept?" Fitzwilliam drew all his effort to restrain his mortification and urge the stiffening of his shoulders to relax into flaccid nonchalance. Sometimes the business of having a personal manservant was an awfully damnable and embarrassing thing. The sticky warmth over his stomach was case and point.

"No, sir. But, it is the usual time for you to be up. Shall I ready a bath?" Johnson was unfailingly flat in his delivery, but his eyes suggested he was fully aware his master could benefit from a dousing of cold water and most likely a wet washing cloth.

"By all means, yes. Please give me a moment of privacy." There was nothing for it. Fitzwilliam knew Johnson knew, after all, it was he who personally took care of laundering his nightclothes and bedding, and it was not the first time the morning played out this way since _she_ came to Netherfield.

Fitzwilliam would just have to deal with the shame of messing himself and the bed sheets as he did when he was a downy lad coming into his own manhood – he would simply pretend it had not happened… except in his mind where his exasperation could reign free. _Bloody hell, am I not too old for this?_

Johnson exited toward the dressing room presumably to call for some water leaving Fitzwilliam to sink back into his pillow and cover his face with his hands.

The evening last whilst still in the drawing-room, he had concluded there was real danger in paying Elizabeth Bennet too much attention, and here he was dreaming about her, losing control of himself over her… for at least the hundredth time since he had truly looked into her face… a face with sparkling, expressive eyes, an adorable upturned nose, apple cheeks, and full, pouty cherry lips that she worried on occasion… she probably did not even realize her habit was nearly his undoing so many times.

Heaven above, what would it be like to kiss those lips?

Feel those lips on his neck, down his chest, over his stomach, taking in the full length of his – no, he must stop this madness.

Time to get out of bed and stop being such a cad. It was one thing to dream of her when he had no control over the places his mind took him during his slumber, but it was entirely another to willingly allow himself the pleasure while he was full conscious.

The last time he permitted his wakeful thoughts to slip into the imagined oblivion that was her mouth, he fisted his own pleasure and was practically caught out by Johnson. Feeling enormous guilt, he took himself to the nearest church to silently supplicate in a back pew for divine intervention and merciful control over his yielding mind.

How dare he bring her into the debauchery of his private thoughts?

She was a gentleman's daughter, maidenly and pure. And, mostly under good regulation, he was a gentleman.

They were equal in a few respects, and perhaps in the important one of experience, but he doubted very much they were equal in information. He was a university man after all, and no educated man left school without having gained a thorough knowledge of the fairer sex – despite how physically chaste he may remain – a mind could not go without some form of corruption when surrounded by hordes of young men in the prime of their natural virility.

Crude jokes abounded, confidences were shared and spread faster than gossip in a lady's sitting room, and most were eager to boast of their exploits. It seemed half were trying to top each other for honors in some unnamed quest for supremacy, and the other half were content to listen carefully and take note.

Fitzwilliam Darcy most certainly belonged to the latter grouping; he did not require some conquest to be sure of himself, but he did require himself to be a good student and thus learned things his father never deemed necessary to share.

He certainly learned of things no gentlewoman could claim knowledge of.

During his first year, an acquaintance crowed on and on about the raptures available for purchase from a dainty little piece of fluff who occupied a room in a house of lavish but sinful deeds. She apparently was quite accomplished in the skills which only required her mouth.

A young Fitzwilliam Darcy acted the part of an appalled gentleman who prided himself on never taking advantage of such services, but the lustful young buck who recently had come into his own from adolescence listened with rapt attention and was wholly jealous of his friend's bold new encounters.

During his four years up at Cambridge, Darcy took himself to that house where the mistress with the mouth resided, but he only ever made it as far as the first stone step.

He thought of his friend's account often, a talented lady on her knees. It was one of his favorite notions to consider when giving over to himself in pleasure as every other man is wont to do from time to time, and as much as he wanted to feel the sensation in truth along with all the other pleasures a woman could give, he forbade himself.

Not long after Cambridge, Fitzwilliam Darcy became master of Pemberley and all of its holdings.

Death of a beloved father, heaps of responsibility, and social climbing women did much to cool the arduous desires of the flesh. On the occasional flare of passion which called for release, he relied upon himself as usual and the occasional illustration or remembrance of some featherbrain's over-exposed charms.

He put it in his mind to forget his favorite fantasy, and all the others too, lest he end up spending his inheritance at a brothel or worse yet, prematurely taking an unsuitable wife who seemed spirited enough to satisfy the hidden desires thrusted deeply within.

And, now, one autumn, in a god-forsaken backwater county outside of London, all repressed yearnings of a most basic nature, were brought forth by one curly-headed impertinent slip of a woman… an innocent, genteel maiden, but lively in every way with vivacious wit flowing from a pretty pert mouth.

Yes, his long ago vivid imaginings of pleasure came back in force every time he gazed upon her face, and once in the same room with her, he could never look away.

He was no gentleman. He stared at her with an intensity of longing and hunger that surely did not go unnoticed. He was ever thankful her father was seldom in company lest he be called to account for his lascivious ways and do his duty. Yes, he was sure he was that evident.

But, while she suited his longings, she would not suit Pemberley's requirements as a mistress.

 _Mistress_.

He had never had one. His pride and honor had never allowed it.

But, what would he give to make Elizabeth Bennet his mistress? Free to ride out every idea of pleasure he could conjure? She was one of the most intelligent women he had ever known; surely she could think of things he could not even imagine. What would he give?

Half of Pemberley? Absolutely not; he would give all of it.

He rolled over to bury his head further in the pillow to let his mind carry on in a more detailed direction when his night shirt dragged a rather unpleasant substance further over his stomach. The stickiness was not so warm now, and it was everywhere. If it had truly been as the vague memories of his dream, he wouldn't have to deal with such a mess as the dark-haired goddess in his dream would have gladly taken care of it in the same way she lapped the spread she preferred on her morning toast – _Dear God_.

He shot out of bed, went to the window, and threw it open. He needed something cold and he needed air, immediately.

In the distance, at the edge of the garden, a vision of innocent loveliness walked the path with her eyes mostly closed and face lifted to the sun. He stepped back beyond the curtain. He was a scoundrel of the first order.

* * *

Breakfast was a wretched affair. He should not have come. He should have directly gone for his horse.

Upon entering the room, she was there.

Standing at the sideboard, filling her plate, and sneaking a taste of the preserves.

She pulled her finger out of her mouth right as she noticed him and her tongue darted out to catch the rest before she looked away with a blush. _Is that a smile on her face?_ _How did she know my earlier thoughts? Witchcraft._

She was the devil in the flesh and there to tempt his seven and twenty years of hard-won celibacy.

He must sit. Breakfast would have to wait until she was out of his presence or until he felt like he could stand to fill his plate without making a spectacle of himself.

Elizabeth studied her breakfast while he studied her. When the footman had poured the tea and relegated himself back to the wall, she spoke.

"Good morning, Mr. Darcy." It was all politeness and no artifice.

"Good morning, Miss Bennet." His tone was clipped and opposite of her soft, feminine one. But, he was a man who was hanging on by the barest of threads.

She bristled. "Forgive me for disturbing your breakfast, sir. I did not think anyone else awake to join me so early."

"No, no, please proceed; by all means, do not let my presence affect your enjoyment of the meal." Wonderful, now he was an utter arse who not only was very disturbed, but he sounded as if he was full of contempt. He intended to put her at ease, but in his distress and to his own ears, his words flowed with derision.

She slowly placed her fork on the table and deliberately picked up a piece of her roll.

A roll which held a considerable slathering of jam.

"Mr. Darcy, please be assured, your presence does nothing whatsoever to affect me." With perfect grace, she slowly and deliberately popped the bite of roll into her mouth and chewed while holding his gaze until she was finished.

She then licked her lips and stood to exit not bothering for a footman to pull out her chair. "Excuse me." She was quite glorious in her vexation.

 _Teasing, mad woman!_

At least with her gone from the room, he could fill his plate and attempt breakfast without further embarrassment.


	2. Chapter 2

His poor horse. She took quite a punishment.

Mr. Darcy was quite unrelenting as he rode her hard.

To be fair… and he was almost always fair, he eventually stopped at a scenic brook and offered the dear girl some refreshment for her willingness to indulge without complaint.

He beat down the adjacent tall, brown grass with his pristine tasseled boots and his great coat flaring and flourishing around him. Since a young man, there was always an incessant need for perpetual motion while in deep thought.

Women.

If a woman could be as simple as his trusted and beloved Bess. Her form was all that it should be – strong, long and lean; her coat held a brilliant shine, always groomed to perfection. She easily took the full weight of him upon her back, and there was, of course, her perfect pedigree.

Better yet, she complied with his every whim. Silent and obliging, so biddable. His crop was seldom required, but she responded most favorably on the occasion he lightly smacked her backside.

All good qualities for prime horseflesh.

And, all good qualities for a wife.

Not the qualities of Elizabeth Bennet. She was petite and soft, and her mane while perfect, was wild. He could imagine it free and blowing in the wind that whirled through the valley of Pemberley.

But, she would never be biddable, or silent, or obliging. He imagined she would break the vow of obedience at the first chance just to prove she was her own woman. And, she would do it with such a charm he would immediately accede to her. No, marriage to Elizabeth Bennet and he would be the one bridled, saddled, and turned by the reins held firmly in her delicate hand.

Perhaps, though, if he were lucky, she would ride him astride? Of course, he would insist on retaining the crop… just a light tap to spur her on.  
His laughter at the thought eventually sobered him. _Marriage?_

It would be an outright abomination. Or rather, that is what his family would certainly say. He could hear his uncle booming and threatening; one aunt would pitch priceless ornaments at his head, and one would give him a silent sniff of her nose.

Matlock would never truly follow through on a threat to sever ties - he never had before. But, disappointment and scorn would be an ever present companion to any happiness he could find with a woman such as Elizabeth Bennet. Unfortunately, her pedigree rendered her as worthless as an old plow horse on the auction block at Tattersalls.

He was a scion of an old and noble lineage. Nothing but a filly with the purest lines would satisfy duty.

He must be serious and give over to prudence, denying all hopes of pleasure. Above all, he must resolve to particularly be careful that no sign of admiration should escape during Miss Elizabeth's final duration at Netherfield. Though he failed miserably with her at breakfast - he was certain he roused her ire by the accidental harsh tone of his voice and lack of basic civility in forgetting to enquire after her ill sister - he knew there were other times, many other times, his regard was clear for her see.

How many times had they engaged in a jousting of wit? Certainly often, but still fewer times than he had been lost in lust staring after her ever move or edged his way close enough to listen to her voice and smell her sweet fragrance.

Miss Bingley had teased him most cruelly for his preference of the lady with the _fine eyes_. Yes, he was an incomparable idiot for baiting Miss Bingley with that declaration, but as much as the heinous woman observed him and was capable of some reasonable deduction, she would have come to her own conclusion and perceived her rival had a tighter hold over his affections anyhow.

Miss Bingley was clever, but Elizabeth was ten times so. How many times had _she_ caught his gaze only to stare back or blush demurely? And, she was always so challenging with her words. If she did not welcome his attention, surely she would simply ignore him. He saw the attempt of several young men in the neighborhood to court her favor and how she dismissed them with kindness. She even allowed them their pride in that she pretended to be completely insensible of their aim. She was graciousness itself.

However, her response to him was altogether different. Instead of gentle benevolence, she was teasing, playful and everything encouraging. And, always, she injected just enough inducement to engage him further. He credited her intelligence too much to think she was unsuspicious to her effect of her art.

Of course, she could not know _all_ things she unwittingly affected in him. But, she knew must know she was on the brink of holding him in her power.

And, now, he must crush the possibility lest he have to eventually devastate raised hopes… her raised hopes, as well as the secret ones of his.

* * *

He walked into the library. It seemed his resolve was to be immediately tested.

There she was, perfect and sweet and charmingly posed upon a sofa with a book.

He would win this fight. He would prove to himself he could manage in a room alone with her and ignore her until he forced himself content.

He grabbed the nearest thing to read, some journal or some such, and opened it while taking a seat in a winged chair that was not too close but near enough to try his new determination. He sat half-obscured from her. The slight turn of his head and she was clear in his vision.

He opened the magazine haphazardly to a page and looked down to a jumble of words.

Curse her scent for wafting over him and obscuring the text. What was that - cherry blossom, vanilla? whatever it was, it was delicious. But not delicious enough to tantalize his palette, not today.

Her sister came to his mind. It would be dreadfully rude to not ask after Miss Bennet. He was remiss this morning for not doing so. His manners were irreparable whilst in her company as he could not be bothered to retrieve his rational mind from his breeches. Should he rectify that now?  
Before he could decide whether or not to speak, he was arrested by her light laugh.

Looking up with some abruptness, he caught her eye and was further pinned down by the sight of her dainty little thumb resting between a smile she was doing a poor job at hiding.

He sucked in his breath and held himself to his chair. He tried to force himself back to his occupation of reading but could not resist sneaking another glance.

Then, she raised her wonderfully arched brow, tilted her laughing face and let loose the saucy grin.

She was a damned imp.

The siren was strong and he was losing his will to restrain. Just what was so amusing? Her book? Was it him?

Oh god, could she see his physical reaction that he now had no chance of stopping? Why would she laugh at him so?

Not just an imp, a teasing imp who dearly love to laugh… at him.

He had to master this and pay her no mind. If he were a man at all, he could resist the fascinations of an enticing country miss with no connections, no money… and the prettiest face, with the most luscious curves.

At least she was not speaking. When she engaged him in conversation, it was his heart that swelled. No, when she was silent, he was safe from that travesty. At least in her silence, it was only an enlarged physical reaction that required calming, and he had years of practice at hiding that.

He turned his attention away from her and back to the page, though he did not see what was before him. His eyes were closed wondering what could amuse her so. He wished he could leave his chair, take her in his arms, and kiss her until she promised to cease her teasing ways. But, he could not. He could never.

And so the next several minutes went.

Ever stubborn, swearing he could sit with her alone unaffected, he parried and rallied his defenses of gentlemanly conduct swearing he was stout enough to deny temptation. He was too far into his campaign to simply beat a hasty retreat from the room. He could and would do this.

The power of her closeness united with his most intimate thoughts eventually cancelled all hope of valor and promised a most vicious slaying, so there was naught to do but to soar with his flight of fancy into the fracas wishing desperately to become a spoil of war, pillaged and plundered by the lovely Elizabeth, his own personal Bellona.

Opening an eye and shifting his gaze to the side, he basked in her allure. Fear of being caught out was vanquished by a heady sense of eager need.

Closing his eyes, he leaned back to indulge in the feeling of gratification her presence lent.

The dying skirmish between his restraint and passion was interrupted by her voice, and to his ears, it was a silky purr. "Mr. Darcy?"

He turned in his chair. Her eyes were still held some of their earlier amusement, but he noticed something lurking there, just waiting for him to draw it out. "Miss Elizabeth?"

She shifted uncomfortably on the settee before she addressed him again. He could swear she was looking through her lashes and moved in a way best to display the swell of her hip as she was sitting somewhat on her side, almost lounging. Her stockinged foot was peeping from below her petticoat, and he saw her toes curl. His did too. "Can I be of assistance?"

She nodded her head, biting down again on her thumb. That blasted, lucky thumb. He was sure there was drool dripping from his chin and pooling over his cravat by now. "Well, you see, sir, I wondering, that is, if you would be so kind as to…"

"Anything, anything at all." All earlier his earlier determination flew in the face of her seeking him in such a sweet, and dare he say, sultry way.  
"I am reading this passage, and I am quite at a loss as to understand it. Do you think you could give me your opinion, perhaps enlighten me?"

How he felt his pride billow! (Almost to the proportions of other, more intimate parts of his person.) She actually desired his opinion. She actually thought his understanding superior to her own. How he would enjoy teaching her anything she so wished.

"Pray, come and direct me how I may be of assistance. I am your servant, Miss Bennet."

She flashed him a bright beam of her teeth that she had previously seemed to reserve for her intimate acquaintances. Could he now be counted among those lucky few? She answered his unspoken question by letting her mouth fall into something like a pout before she bit down on that rosy, juicy piece of flesh that was her bottom lip. He did not mistake that she looked through her lashes this time. She was flirting with him. She must have forgiven him for his rudeness earlier at breakfast.

As she slowly and most torturously glided off the couch, he crossed his legs in an attempt to hide the impact of her enticing appeal.

She seemed shy and eager all at once as she proffered the open book in her hand. His fingers felt hers when he reached up to help balance the pages.

He looked down and laughed. "Miss Bennet?"

She said nothing but her blush was telling, and the feel of her skin under his was becoming warmer still to the touch.

A slender finger from her other hand pointed out the particular text.

 _…_ _I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste._

He was not laughing any longer. She wanted his opinion? On this? Ludicrous! And, blasphemous!

Her voice was quiet and low in a way he had not heard before. "Your thoughts?"

He dared to meet her bold eyes. "No."

"Then I am quite disappointed." She pulled back the book, closed it in her hands, and raised her brow in challenge.

All restraint was gone. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her close, down into the chair. The word of God fell the floor with his best intentions.

"Do you enjoy your torture, madam? Are you so cruel to inflict it upon me? Tell me, what exactly do you seek?"

"I suppose I thought to provoke some effect. I assure you, I am firm in my interpretation and know my own wishes. I only want to know yours."

With that, he pulled her the rest of the way onto his lap and kissed her with great fervor. Her passionate response was all he could have ever dreamed in his wildest imaginings, and before he realized, his hands slid down her back, all the way down, where he most steadily pressed her closer. She sat on his lap with her knees to either side facing him.

The only thing between them was her heaving breast and one of her hands and it was caressing his chest and then further.

He tore his lips away and replaced them upon her neck. As his tongue tasted lower, her hand took a similar southerly path.

He tightened his arms around her back as he pressed his face into the neckline of her dress. His words were intelligible as he encouraged her.

Elizabeth Bennet did not need instruction much to his utter delight. The pressure of her hand upon him was otherworldly, and now he only wished to feel the skin of her fingertips against him without the barrier of his breeches.

He was becoming concerned for his sanity as it seemed she chose to comply with every wish his thoughts invented. How could she know his mind so? And, how was she so adept with the buttons on his fall?

 _Ohhh!_ He was not prepared for the actual touch of a woman. Her hands were not as course as his own, and her movements were not as skilled. But, it was a thousand times better. A thousand little thrills running through his body.  
He could not do much but hold his face to her chest and alternate kissing what flesh he could take and growl his pleasure into her skin. It was maddeningly exquisite.

Suddenly her touch stopped, but it was replaced by the feel of her dress washing against him as she slid to the floor. How was his waistcoat unbuttoned? And, how lovely did it feel to have her caress under his shirt and over his stomach!

His eyes rolled back. What sweet suffering it all was!

But, not as sweet as what she did next. The blow to his mind when her mouth fell over him was enough to drive him to his finish, but he persevered not wanting it to end. He gripped the arms of the chair tightly trying to hold himself together.

She wound her hands up and down his chest and her mouth followed a similar motion. He was so close. As she kept her beautiful head in place, one hand reached to grab his. Then she trailed it up his arm and squeezed while she looked up and smiled, still firmly attached. It was his undoing, and he was completely spent.

Somewhere in the haze, he thought he heard her say his name. What a nice sound, from a kind mouth.

"MR. DARCY!"

The bliss was torn from him and he looked up (and not down) into the face of a very concerned and bewildered woman. She was certainly not on the floor but standing next to his chair.

He had lived out a reverie that had seemed so, so real. Clearly real based on what he now felt in his breeches - which were very securely fixed. _Thank everything holy my hands are still gripping the arm of the chair and not my own…_

"Are you ill, sir?" Her voice carried something a little uncomfortable and much insistence. Her blush was rather abundant.

"I, um, yes, I mean no?" He closed his eyes and sat as still as a statue. The tension he had easily expelled away during his imaginings came back in full force to grip him in a vice of fear.

Had he spoken aloud as he let his mind wander down its sinful path? Had he made any unbecoming noises?

 _Please tell me I did not take myself into my own hand! I swear I will give up every vice I have ever had if I can but escape this._

"Shall I fetch Mr. Bingley? Do you need assistance?"

"No!" What else could he say? Excuses were hard to come by in his panic. Bingley could absolutely not be called to witness his monumental shame.

"I must have drifted off and have had something, well, like a dream." It was a painful slap to his pride to admit, but it was better than the truth. His guilt was further heightened by the wave of compassion which crossed her expression.

"You seemed quite tortured in your sleep." Her voice was quiet, and she looked anywhere but at him.

God, she had no notion he most certainly was tortured, indeed, and at the expense of her mouth no less. It was impossible that she should feel sorry for him.

Her hand was still on his arm, and as they looked to it at the same time, he saw rather than felt the little squeeze before she lifted her gentle fingers. Fingers that were concerned, not immoral. He was pitiful to pray on her sympathy.

"Miss Bennet, can I trouble you to spare me the library? I find that I need a moment."

"I am certain you do."

He managed to bestow a parting nod as to not completely slight her. There was no way he could possibly stand to execute a proper bow in his condition.

She did not move to leave, and he caught her eye trying to convey his contrition. She quickly acknowledged his apologetic look with a small smile and then let her eyes fall to his lap with a little smirk. _Blast. She realized. She knows._

"Do enjoy your reading, Mr. Darcy. I pray it will restore your mind."

His eyes dropped. _La Belle Assemblee_ was open and draping over his lap. A deuced woman's monthly was covering his spent seed. _That_ is what he picked up to read? Had that been what she was laughing over when he first entered the room? His mortification truly knew no bounds. At least the evidence was properly obscured.

He prayed, no, he could not pray because he had already bound himself to hell for his wickedness and the use of divine Word to instigate his very unholy musings. So, instead, he wished, wished more than anything she did not know what was lurking under the pages - pages he would absolutely have to burn.

She still remained, and he understood he could not let her leave without some explanation. "My sister. You see, I make it a habit of reading anything she might read. I am her guardian."

"Understandable, indeed. How nice to have a brother in which to discuss such trivial matters of fashion with."

Looking as if she could not hold back further, she continued. "Perhaps I should share your practice with my father? If so, I shall have to trouble you to return my copy. I can send it to papa now and ask him to prepare himself for a discussion over fashion upon our return. He will not be pleased with the suggestion as he detests talk of sleeves and lace, but I am sure he will see the merit in knowing what interests his daughters."

He paled. Lifting the pages from his lap to place back in her hands was not an option. He could never return it. He would have to send to London for a new copy right away as he feared he most likely soiled it.

He stammered for something to say. "Miss Bennet – "

Her hand forestalled his speech, and her blush reappeared. "It is no trouble, Mr. Darcy. By all means, finish your perusal. It is not even mine but Jane's. She will not mind. I am sure you are wishing me away. Good day."

Turning his head down back to his lap in utter disgust, he did not reply.

He heard her slippers grow more distant, and he lifted his head to watch the sway of her hips as she walked through the door. It was a beautiful sight, but the attraction of it all had waned considerably in the last few moments under the burden of disgrace. His better sense was wafting back to his mind, and he began to eye her figure with disdain.

How dare she use her womanly arts to enthrall him so much? She was too much a temptress. _Does she even know?_ He decidedly preferred not to suppose an answer to that question – either response would not go far to quell his pathetic obsession. The only hope was to remove himself from her company entirely as he failed miserably in his attempt to act in a rational manner while in her presence. Clearly, he could not even keep to the same room as her without his every desire being preyed upon.

Once he could puzzle out how to get to his chamber without scandalizing himself further, he would take to his rooms until she and all her inducements were in a carriage and returning to Longbourn. The previous night he thought himself in some danger, and now he knew full well he was teetering on the precipice of complete damnation.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, I achieved the challenge part of what I originally intended when I set out to write this. So, now I am at my leisure to help Darcy broaden his one-track mind from lust to love... but no promises. He is still a dude, and this is really just fluff, and I am still really blushing. I have the idea for the next chapters, but I am open to your feedback and direction if you want to leave a review.

Also, if you are following my other story - I'm almost ready to update. That one is so much harder to write, and this just helps when I need a break from the emotional drama. :)


	3. Chapter 3

A healthy pile of correspondence sat well-ordered on the small writing desk. Each fold of parchment was made rigid between his fingers, his crest was pressed hard into the pliable drippings of wax lay perfectly centered upon the backs of each missive.

He gazed restlessly at the clock over the mantle as he fingered the stack repeatedly as to ensure each corner was perfectly square. _Midnight_. His man had been dismissed hours ago, and the evening tea still remained untouched on the little table across the room.

He looked back to the business arranged before him. He had not been so industrious since he entered Hertfordshire. _If I had known shame would bring about such a flourish of productivity, perhaps I should have tried embarrassing myself much sooner._ Perhaps he should thank _her_ for inadvertently spurring him into efficiency? _No, most certainly not._

He shook his head at his own ridiculous thoughts and laid his head on the cool, smooth surface below him. The wood was as cool as now his ardor seemed to be. Yes, it seemed spilling into one's breeches in front of a lady was a certain way to dampen one's desire… at least for a few hours.

That very afternoon, his humiliation had been complete. His pride had died a cruel death inflicted by one delectable Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

He had always lauded himself for his control, but over the past several days she stole it from him complete. His self-respect was mortified to the point it may cease to return for a very long while, and so, he had locked himself away in his chamber for the rest of the day vowing to apply himself to worthy pursuits such as tedious estate business, pacing the floor like a caged animal until his feet ached, returning long overdue correspondence to his most abominable relations, and blankly staring over and over at the Germanic words in a book he had begun over a fortnight previous.

Self-reflection could come tomorrow after he exhausted himself; his pride was too fragile to allow true introspection just yet. Distraction and denial were the only things which kept him from jumping out his window overlooking the garden.

Tomorrow, he would focus on his own reproach and a consider going to church where he would spend the entire duration listening to the parson and pray for control over himself. And, then, if a great hole to hell did not swallow him up as soon as he walked into the parish church, he would conceive a plan to retrieve all his interests and dignity from the lady who held both so mercilessly.

For now, he was pushing forward into all-consuming preoccupation in hopes of avoiding any weakness of thought.

And, his endeavor required solitude.

He did not care if he was acting the part of a poor house guest. To blazes with them all. Miss Bingley could lament his absence until her heart was content… which would be likely never.

While he knew Bingley came to check on him in part due to the natural concerns of a friend, and Darcy's guilt was almost roused for it, he mostly and rightly had better sense to credit Bingley's earlier visit to the nagging of a most vile and pernicious sister who was nothing more than a mean-spirited and ill-mannered social climber. Bingley knew better when to leave well enough alone, but he was swayed more easily than he should be to perform his sister's bidding if only to give himself some peace.

 _Caroline Bingley_. He shuddered… and not in a pleasurable way. That lady was representative of everything he deplored in the fairer sex. _While Elizabeth is everything I could aspire to want_.

 _Oh. Dear. Lord._

He banged his head on the desk. He should go to sleep. He heard the others retire to their rooms at least an hour previous.

He was not tired. Fear kept him alert. If he succumbed to his sleep, she would exert her power, and he had no chance to combat if not fully conscious. And, he must learn to conquer her. The obsession was crippling, and he never knew himself to be such a pathetic louse.

He looked at his letters again wishing he had more to write, but alas, he completed every stitch of work he could busy himself with. All his writing served its purpose, but now, again, he was at a loss. And, he knew it would be absolutely fruitless to attempt his book again.

Moving to the window, he gazed over the listing fields flooded with moonlight. It was a stunning night, and if he were at Pemberley, he would saddle Bess and ride her until some calmness settled over him. But, he could not chance a night ride at Netherfield. Only at Pemberley did he know the paths so well as to not risk his favorite companion.

Though, despite the lateness, he must have activity. Dare he chance to leave his room? He was certain all were abed. Perhaps he could sneak into the billiards room for a solitary game or two?

Surely the room would be empty. Bingley would never play without a partner, and Hurst was most assuredly hours into a drunken slumber.

He would walk directly there, not passing her chamber door, not passing the library – certainly _not_ the library. He very much doubted he would enter _that_ room ever again.

Yes, a game or several at the table would answer his need for mental and physical exertions. For if he stayed in his room any longer without better distraction, his dreams would invade… without or without slumber, and then he would most likely have to satisfy his need for exertion in a much different way entirely which would only be a shame and vex poor Johnson when he gathered the laundry.

* * *

Darcy opened the door and halted with such abruptness that if he held a taper in his hand, it would have been fated for the floor.

If he had been rational, it may have struck upon him to immediately flee to his chambers, bury himself in the bed covers, and recite every prayer and proverb his memory could pull from its depths on the topic of sin. _Is there not some such promise as God not allowing a man to be tempted more than he could bear?_

He could no longer recall.

But, very quickly, his mind was rendered unserviceable by the faint flicker of candle light touching her face. Touching her hair. _By god, touching the flowing white fabric of her dressing gown._

She was an angel descended directly from heaven.

 _Wonderful, now I am as insipid as Bingley._

The snap of her book caused him to blink, but his voice was still powerless to emit sound. When time began to move forward again and some meager sense began creeping back into addled mind, he suddenly felt exposed. Very exposed. He had not even a waistcoat.

And his stockings! _Blast._ There were not even house shoes covering his feet.

The only blessing was he at least wearing trousers and not breeches. For some reason the thought his legs were completely covered consoled him… until his hand went to where his cravat normally was tied.

He closed his eyes and snaked his hand deliberately back to his side willing himself to vanish from the very spot in which he stupidly stood.

He was a fool of a man.

He should have known luck was not on his side this day and remained firmly placed in his room. Or, at the very least, he should have fully dressed.

"Mr. Darcy, pray excuse me. I was just about to retire to my room."

He stopped worrying over himself and his exposed neck just long enough to see a flash of distress in her face and she stood from her nestled place in an overstuffed and much-worn leather chair. All the progress which he made earlier to calm his passion was undone when she gave a quick little turn, bending as she did so, to retrieve her shawl from the floor where it had fallen from the chair.

 _Heaven help me_.

As she rose from her curved position, a position which gave him a new perspective of her luscious form and no doubt would haunt him for many, many days, she held his eye with her chin poised high enough to clearly intimate it was _he_ who was intruding on _her_.

Nevertheless, it was she who made move to leave. And, he had seen, albeit for the briefest moment, her own embarrassment… a faint flash of flush along her jaw and over her cheeks… at being caught alone in the middle of the night in a room which clearly existed for the men of the house.

"Miss Bennet, please do not leave on account of me. It is I who should leave."

She had taken only two steps before he implored her again. "Please, resume your book. My apologies for the interruption."

She looked beyond him and then back to her chair a full two times as she seemed to consider his words, and with the turn of her neck, her hair swept across her shoulder in a most becoming way. He could never recall seeing a woman's hair unbound, sister withstanding, and he gripped his hands together to keep from extending his arm to touch it in wonder.

If he did not make his escape very soon, then he was bound to shock her, because all restraint was dissolving into a pile of something extraordinarily pathetic and surely dangerous.

After taking another long look once again toward the chair she just vacated, she arched her brow and produced an impish little grin before turning on her toe and resuming her seat. "Very well, Mr. Darcy. Have a pleasant night. Thank you for relinquishing the room."

For the hundredth time that day, he damned her very divine person. He was too enthralled by the outline of her body under the flimsy layers of her night clothes, too fascinated the curl of her soft hair splayed below its normal perch, and too enraptured by her beguiling, candle-kissed face to move or respond, so he stood there gawking like a dimwitted man who did not even have sense enough to recall how to draw a breath let alone engage in a gentlemanly manner.

She opened her book and spoke quietly without looking up. "Sir, I do believe you said it was _you_ who should leave."

 _Devil take it_. He was not leaving. Wild stallions could not now drag him away when he perceived she was offering herself up in challenge.

He cursed himself for not having tied himself to the chair in his room until it was confirmed she was miles away back at Longbourn. _Too late_.

Instead, he turned to the door without walking through it as he should have done. With as little noise as possible, he closed it and briskly went to take the chair next to hers.

He stared and she eventually looked up catching him in the act. He could not even be ashamed for it. She put herself in his way, maybe not exactly in a deliberate fashion, but this was not a room open to ladies, especially not at an hour such as this.

As she often seemed to do, she spoke as if she knew his thoughts. It unnerved him. She unnerved him.

His unabashed scrutiny of her stopped at the wide ribbon belt of her dressing gown which rested somewhere under her breasts and above her waist. His eyes closed of their own accord where he immediately saw her coming to stand before him, so closely, and taking her small perfect hand to the simple tie which held her cloth ensemble together, giving it a small pull…

"I love this room."

He shook his head and returned his now opened eyes to her face. "Pardon?"

"This is my favorite room at Netherfield."

He was still too captivated to speak much, and so he just foolishly and openly gazed at her.

"You, see, my father was great friends with the previous owner, the elder Mr. Hardwick, before the younger inherited and began to let out the estate. I was quite attached to my father as a young girl and refused to leave his shadow. He would bring me here with him, and Mr. Hardwick together with my father spent a great deal of time in this room.

"I would sit over there, in the window seat, content just to be in papa's presence while pretending to read a book. They were most generous to allow me to join them, and some of my fondest memories include observing my father's easy laughter with his truest friend."

As Elizabeth spoke, he meditated on the notion of a pretty proper girl in frills and ribbons carefully observing the father she clearly idolized. Would he ever be so lucky to have an adoring daughter with chocolate curls and mischievous twinkling eyes to follow him around, looking up to him in such a way?

He shuddered for not the first time that night, but the horror of where his thoughts had led was softened a bit by what pleasure such a future would be.

Silence reigned over the night for a minute or several – he was not sure.

"Mr. Darcy, I should leave you. By the look on your face, I am sure you wish me gone. I do hope you have recovered from your terrible dream earlier in the afternoon and hope it is not keeping you from sleep."

He turned his wide, stricken eyes to her. She had the look of sincerity, but it did nothing to quell the sickening feel of his pulse speeding up at her mention of his indiscretion.

"Pray, forgive me for mentioning it, sir. I really must be going to bed."

Before she stood, he recollected himself and forced speech to come forth from his parched mouth. "No, Miss Bennet. It is unfortunate you had to witness that today, and much to my mortification. I did not intend to nod off earlier while in the library. And, please, you were here first. Do not leave on my account."

This seemed to settle her, and she offered in a quiet voice, "one of my sisters suffers from terrors in her sleep. Truly, I am well accustomed and understand quite well."

The seriousness of her voice was almost a cause to laugh. He doubted very much one of her innocent sisters shared such an affliction.

"Then I thank you."

She inclined her head and gave him the most innocent and compassionate look that he was immediately chastised most thoroughly all over again.

He must turn the conversation away from the events of their afternoon in the library… better yet, he should vacate the room.

And miss this chance to know her better? _Not a chance for anything._

"Miss Bennet, tell me, all the time you spent in the room as a child, did you ever learn to play?"

* * *

 **A/N** : Thank you for reading! I love reviews, so please feel free to leave some more!

I have two more chapters to post... getting to that now. XOXO


	4. Chapter 4

**_A/N_ : I UPLOADED CHAPTER THREE JUST MINUTES PREVIOUS, so please make sure you read it before reading this chapter! **

* * *

Her eyes were opened wide, and her mouth formed a little circle with her soft lips parted.

Ah, he had shocked her by asking if she played billiards! How delightful! _That mouth…_

"Sir, no, I never –"

"Would you like to learn?"

She covered her initial surprise with a playful archness that endeared her to him much in the same way the earlier sight of her lovely backside did. "No, Mr. Darcy, I am not entirely certain it would be so proper."

"Very well. Do not be so scandalized… and you must not repeat this to a soul, but I did teach my sister last winter when we found ourselves with not much to occupy our time during a particularly heavy snowfall, and she is perhaps now my most worthy opponent. If you find it so improper, please accept my apology for suggesting that which would offend your delicate sensibilities, madam."

She looked up from the hands neatly clasped in her lap, clearly fighting the blush which had been appearing ad reappearing since he had stepped into the room.

She narrowed her fine eyes and tilted her head to the side in a most appealing way which exposed the column of her neck. It was one thing to see her creamy skin when her hair was pulled up to its usual formality, but it was completely new and mesmerizing to see it revealed by the sweep loose curls falling back over her shoulder. He wished to pull her to his lap and attach his mouth firmly to the spot now visible below her ear.

"So, you seek to gain a partner for your game by not only calling out my feminine sensibilities but comparing me to your very accomplished sister?"

He forced what he hoped was his best smile. "Miss Elizabeth, I understand from our previous conversations that you are not one to cede easily, so I shall assume my attempt has been met with success."

To his ears, the sound of her laughter was better than any music performed by even the most proficient master.

"Mr. Darcy, for that, you should be rewarded with nothing but my abrupt removal from this room. However, I am feeling generous tonight, and I think I shall be the one to scandalize you buy saying, indeed, sir, I accept your offer. Of course, I must swear you to all out secrecy, for I am not sure my reputation could withstand the hit."

Mr. Darcy held up his hand. "Upon my honor, madam, and I never break a vow."

Seeing her lips turn up in such a teasing way, he could not help but be entreated to take their contest one step further. "Can I tempt you with a wager? You see, it is a crucial part of the game as it is essential to enhance the competitive spirit among friends."

She held her hand to her high neckline and clearly feigned the outrage she was affecting by way of her dismayed expression. "Sir, are you to imply a gentleman's daughter would dare enter into a wager? Do you think me lost to all propriety and good sense, sir?"

"Well, not only is it well after midnight, but you about to engage in a gentleman's game with a strange man in a rather dark room. Your courage leads me to believe adding a wager is not entirely out of the question considering the circumstances. And, it may alleviate your concern to know I never wager for money."

She gave him a rather dubious look as if she did not believe him. "Strange man? Did you not just imply this was a game among friends? And, truly, you never wager for money? Pardon if I do find it rather difficult to think you entirely truthful as I do not consider myself completely naïve to the habits of gentlemen. And, I must thank you for painting such a clear understanding of my foolishness in remaining here with you. Though I am not afraid of you, you have now led me to question whether I should do as a young lady ought by promptly removing myself."

He stood and executed a perfect bow which brought him the recollection of his open shirt. _Damn._ He had forgotten his state of relaxed dress. He pushed all that aside knowing he could not allow her to give up his company.

"Miss Elizabeth, I shall also say goodnight if you truly wish it to be so."

She brought her hand up close to her face to study her fingers. And, he felt she just may be persuaded based on her attempt to keep her curvy mouth in a straight line. He continued, "What say you to _you_ naming the wager? I shall be satisfied with whatever it is you suggest. I will also clarify my earlier words by saying I never wager money except for friendly amounts when required in a social situation."

She raised her brow but seemed pacified. She joined him in standing, absentmindedly stretching her arms above her head as if to suppress the urge to yawn.

He almost lost his head. Her ankles were bare.

And, in the absence of petticoats and whatever else young ladies wore under their gowns, all his prior imaginings of her were further confirmed. The natural curves of Elizabeth's body were enough to force a man to his knees and beg. If she requested it, he would fall to the floor right then and there.

As he saw her look down as if she suddenly realized what he was about, she quickly wrapped one arm across her chest and the other around her waist.

 _I am a gentleman and not a rake_.

Gentlemen did not gape. Gentleman did not beg.

With great determination, he tore his eyes from the peaks and valleys which were well-covered by her dressing gown and brusquely went to where the cues stood erect against the wall.

"So, madam, unless are now inclined otherwise, what shall the wager be? I warn you, I play to win and shall not make it easy for you, so only bet what you are willing to forfeit."

She outright laughed at his over-confidence which did much to lighten the awkward mood his stares had produced, and he felt a thrill shoot through him at the sound.

"Your self-assurance knows no bounds and borders on conceit, Mr. Darcy. I promise to apply myself to your teaching and will do my best. I must warn I normally prove to be a quick study in these kinds of things. I am tempted to wager that if I should win, then you must confess your defeat to Mr. Bingley as punishment for your pride."

"Have not we had this discussion, Miss Elizabeth? I do recall confessing that where there is real superiority, pride is not so much a failing."

He turned to hand her a cue and could not help but incline his head in question. He was delighted he could make her smile, laugh even.

Shaking her head, she took the proffered stick. "Sir, you are incorrigible and deserve to be punished. I only said I _should_ wager that you must confess to losing to a lady if it were come to pass. However, upon your confession, Mr. Bingley would then learn I trespassed into his game room. Such does not suit my purpose as his guest. And, may God grant you mercy should his sister find out. Instead, I propose this: the winner has the right to ask an honest question… any question... and the loser shall have to provide an honest answer."

Stick in one hand, she gave a Darcy a smirk and then picked up her candle. It was the only lit candle in the room, and she moved it closer to the game table as she continued. "Other than currently sharing this room with you at an unseemly hour, I have no secrets and am not afraid of anything you could ask, so trounce me all you like."

Oh, how was he to teach her billiards now? Her invitation sounded wonderfully agreeable to him. He wished to pick her up and trounce her on the sofa across the room. And, then she could ask him any question she wished. He could imagine telling her anything.

He sighed at the images of her laid back with her hair spread about and the wrap of her dressing gown falling open to the side to reveal what was underneath. Upon hearing her throat clear, he recollected his sanity and turned toward the table willing the physical manifestation of his thoughts to subside.

 _Billiards, yes, focus on the game_.

"You must learn first how to hold the cue and slide it easily within your palm."

Darcy colored deeply and stared down at the table. How could such harmless words sound so promising?

Her scent caused him to look up. She had wordlessly come to stand next to him studying the cue in her hands as if not noticing he had rattled himself so.

"Very well, then please show me."

He swallowed his tongue. Must he always be so pitiable? He was a grown man and not a silly school boy. He could and would control his ridiculous mind and reactions.

He calmed himself with a few deep breaths praying she would not notice his discomposure. He eventually lined up the balls and showed her how to use her cue to strike the white ball into the red one.

True to her earlier assertion, she did prove a quick study, but he was by nature one who demanded perfection once set to a task, and her technique still left something to be desired.

If they were to play a game with the implication of a secret at stake, then he wished to make it as fair to her as possible. A few more minutes of practice, and she would be a credible enough opponent.

"Miss Bennet, take a slightly harder grip with your right hand. Also, bend lower the table just a little further. You truly want your line of sight almost even with the table. Observe me."

She watched and then tried again not quite executing as he had demonstrated.

He thought she could do better. "Pray, may I assist you?"

"Are you not assisting me now?" She was bent over the table looking down the cue when she turned her face up to question him. It was everything charming and suggestive. Yes, he felt brave enough to do what he wished. After all, he only wanted to improve her stroke.

"Well, yes, but if you do not mind, may I step behind you and position you correctly so you may get the proper feel?"

She stood leaving the cue on the table, and he guessed she clearly did not comprehend what he was asking, because she agreed that if it would give her advantage, then she welcomed his further instruction.

 _If she really knew my motivations, she would not be so inviting_.

He gave a rather guilty smile but still took up a stance standing so closely he was nearly pressed against her back.

Much, much too close.

She stiffened a little, and he could smell the scent infused in her hair. A few wild strands were almost caressing his face. He persevered over the initial impulse to slide his arms around her, and he instead focused on the excuse of instructing her.

From behind and just a little to the side of her, he asked her to return the stick to her hand and ready herself to hit the cue ball. As she did, he grasped the edge of the table with his left hand and moved his right hand over hers with a firm grasp.

She jumped so lightly it was barely perceptible. He was elated. She was affected by his closeness. Somehow, he became an altogether different person by the knowledge of it.

He never knew himself to sound as smooth and practiced as when he leaned close to her ear, taking a great breath to inhale her sweetness. "Miss Bennet, if you wish to win our game, you should focus and steady your hand. Do not jump about so." He further tightened the grip of his fingers around hers.

"Now, madam, lean lower, keep your back straight, and look down the cue. Imagine the angle with which you wish to strike."

She did as he directed which resulted in the most pleasant feeling he had heretofore experienced in all of his life. Since he stood just behind her and mimicked her actions, she inadvertently pressed back into him as she bent over the table further.

The feel of her was feather light but incredible. He was so lost in it, he did not even concern himself if she may be able to feel the reaction he would normally consider an inconvenience. It certainly was unavoidable, welcome, and natural when his mind was so far surrendered to the sensation of her nestled into him so softly, intimately.

Neither moved until he bent his head to hers. His eyes were closed and his face was practically in her delicious hair. He wished to move his lips over it until he found her neck, and then he would devour it as he imagined earlier.

And, then he would have the rest of her.

He wished to run his hands up her body and truly bend her over the table where he could find the bliss he only experienced in his dreams.

"Mr. Darcy." Her whisper was as faint as the feeling of her against him. Even her formal address was so enticing to his ears. Before he pulled slightly away, he could not help to bear a hint closer and was rewarded with the obvious falter of her breath.

He knew he must return back to the game before he did something he would truly regret… or something that would earn him a sound slap across the face.

"Now, Miss Elizabeth, pull your arm back and push forward swiftly with controlled pressure."

With his hand over hers, he pulled her cue back and pushed it forward in a quick, deliberate stroke using only his arm while keeping his body from desperately pressing into her again.

At the sound of the cue ball colliding with its object, Fitzwilliam hastily removed himself to the other side of the table, and all the easy charm he thought he may have possessed during his brief attempt at flirtation was vanquished once he realized his aroused state would not be easily concealed if he were required to move away from the table's concealment.

The difficulty of his uncontrolled response finally registered and his manner, like other parts of his person, were rigid.

At least she seemed uncomfortable as he, and for that, he felt remorse. He should have never acted even a small part on his desire.

She was first to recover and speak. "Shall you consider me now a worthy opponent for an actual game?"

 _Does she really wish to continue in my presence after such behavior?_

When she spoke again, he realized he failed to respond. _Why does this woman render me a mute by her mere presence? Infuriating!_

"Well, sir, perhaps it is time to say goodnight – "

He shook his head. He did not wish his time with her to end. He wracked his head for something to say which would cause her to stay. "Miss Bennet, I do believe we agreed to terms of a wager. It would impugn my honor to quit the field unless of course, you are tired – and then I will bow out for your comfort. But, madam, I was quite looking forward to your trouncing… as you described it yourself."

"Oh, were you indeed?" Her free hand held her side as she gave a little laugh and doubled over a little, and then her hair fell slightly in front of her face.

The tension melted as did something inside of him.

She looked up through her lashes and moved her hand to pull her hair back so she could clearly see him.

Her steady gaze disoriented him. "You have my permission to do your worst, sir, now tell me exactly the rules of our game. I dare say I stand a fair chance at succeeding after your comprehensive lesson just now."

 _Minx!_

"And, it was _you, madam,_ who earlier accused _me_ of too much confidence? Rest-assured, Miss Elizabeth, I am too much the gentleman to accuse you of having such pride, at least aloud. But, I am concluding we may very well have similar natures. In the spirit of competition, may the best man… or woman… win."

He gave her a curt bow, and so his expression changed. He laid out the rules of an abbreviated game, and he shifted his focus to the prize. He had more than one question he wished to ask her, and he would not risk losing his opportunity or nerve by doing the gentlemanly thing of allowing her to win.

A little more than half an hour later, Fitzwilliam was smug as stood across the felt-topped and intricately carved table.

"Congratulations, Mr. Darcy." There was a slight edge to her voice but he looked up to the prospect of a serene smile in a pretty face. She acted everything graciously, but below her good manners, he could plainly see she was not one who enjoyed a loss. And, it was just another thing he could love about her.

 _Love about her? Was he mad? Surely._

"Thank you, Miss Elizabeth. You played quite well for your first time."

"Oh, 'quite well' is not 'very well', but I am satisfied by your compliment and thank you for the instruction. I must remark that you are a determined and serious competitor hardly smiling and not finding pleasure in the game at all. I do hope you took some enjoyment in your victory."

"Ah, and how am I respond to answer that?" He smiled now. "If I confirm I enjoyed it, then it means I indulge in your defeat, which is not near the actions of a gentleman. But, if I deny enjoyment in my thorough thrashing of you, then it means denying the pleasure of engaging in your company, and, madam, I shall not perjure myself nor fail my duty as a gentleman. So, instead, I think I shall challenge you to a rematch. What say you? It is not yet half-past one, and I do not see either of us falling asleep yet."

Her reply was checked by a door closing in the distance down the hall. Fear flashed in both their faces. Both were too overcome with the realization and implications of being found together, thus they were too overwhelmed to be grateful for the drafts swarming through the house which had all but slammed the faraway door causing such a noise of warning.

Fitzwilliam could hear heavy footfalls in the corridor and quickly scanned the room for his best option. Elizabeth stared in his direction and was entirely motionless. The chance of being found together was not an option at all.

He bounded to her, licking his thumb without thought. He then squeezed out the flame of the candle burning next to her.

There was no chance for lingering smoke.

* * *

 **A/N:** This whole billiards scene is taking up several chapters, but I just could not shorten it! Again, this is all really fluff, but I would love to hear what you think!

Also, please know I have no beta reader and am terrible at proofreading my own stuff, so thank you for excusing my mistakes!


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I POSTED CHAPTERS THREE AND FOUR EARLIER TONIGHT. Make sure you read those first!**

* * *

It was them and the moonlight in a large room with windows on three sides overlooking the formal gardens. Furniture was sparse as there were only a few chairs, a sofa, and two gaming tables. Their only chance was to hide behind the thick brocaded fabric. He reached for her hand and all but dragged her behind the heavy curtains which were piled to the side of a great window.

It was dusty behind the draperies, and he willed himself not to cough as he held his body fully against the wall. When he comprehended he still held Elizabeth's hand, he let it go.

"My shawl and book."

He whispered there was nothing for it and everything would be fine. "Just do not move. We may be lucky yet. Whoever it is may pass this room. It is likely just a footman checking for any lit candles before the staff retires for the night. Do not be troubled."

"Troubled? Perhaps it is a normal occurrence for you to seek shelter within a window's curtains, but for me, this is a first. And, I venture my reputation is more fragile than yours. I should not have been so foolish."

At that, they each gasped at hearing the doorknob turn. Fitzwilliam's heart was beating out of his chest. If they were caught, Elizabeth Bennet would be compromised and he would be obliged to do his duty.

A duty for which he did not deem himself ready.

He waited for the emotion of such a frightening prospect as marriage to sweep over him, but instead, he reached out for the lady's hand again as someone took a step into the room.

She squeezed back. _Solidarity_. He could have sighed if he wasn't holding his breath.

Someone was moving within the room.

 _Please, do not let us be found_. It was not a prayer, for he knew he had sinned too many times earlier in the day to be heard. But, it was a plea into the unknown. He wished with everything he had their current predicament would not be discovered and cause damage to the reputation of the woman who was rapidly becoming something very dear.

There was just enough moonlight filtering through an opening behind them to where he could see her face out of the corner of his eye. Her cheek was against the wall as if she wanted to fade into the plaster of the wall. He ever so slightly turned his head. She was smiling. Actually, to his confusion, it looked as if she were now finding amusement in the situation.

It _was_ rather ridiculous. He was a grown man hiding among a tussle of window coverings. He tried his best to glare at her in hopes to keep her mirth bottled up. Whoever had come into the room was still not even fifteen paces away.

Apparently, Fitzwilliam needed to work on his glower. He could see she almost lost her self-control, and it was his involuntary reaction which brought his hand to her mouth as deftly as possible. He hoped he had not disturbed the drapes too much to be noticed, but his action worked to stifle her laugh.

All her mirth ceased as his hand grazed her lips, and her eyes opened wide and locked on his. She finally brought her free hand to cover his as their other hands were still grasped together.

He slowly slid his fingers unknowingly down her jaw before she tore her own hands away from his. She lay them flat along the wall behind her as heard her breaths come in sweet, short pants.

Everything seemed to cease for Fitzwilliam as he still touched the smooth skin just under her cheek. What overtook him was not the strong desire as he had always felt when she was near, it was something much more bewildering yet calm. He had the feeling he would always know the importance of this exact moment… caressing her face… looking into the depths of her eyes.

The moment was gone when he heard the door close and the footsteps on the other side of the wall.

Elizabeth quickly removed herself from their hiding place leaving him to gather himself within the swirl of dusty fabric.

When he stood before her, he saw she regained her good humor and began to laugh. He could not help himself but join her. When she became a little louder than she should be, he finally scolded her in between his own chuckles. "Miss Elizabeth, you must cease or we shall surely be found out. This is not a laughing matter."

They both finally regained themselves, and he moved to the window seat close by. She looked to him for a long moment before standing tall and proper, white dressing gown falling around her. "Mr. Darcy, forgive me. If I did not laugh, I believe I may have cried. Nevertheless, I do believe it is time to part. We have tempted fate for far too long tonight."

"I do believe it would be wise to wait for a few minutes longer lest you are found wondering the halls and then forced to feign walking in your sleep. Surely just another ten minutes, and then it should be safe."

He watched as she studied her hands. Her hair fell again in front of her, and he could only see a small glimmer of her profile illuminated by the night's light. It danced off her lips as she reached out to lick them, and his desire sprang forth with a renewed vigor.

They were now alone in the silvery room, and he so badly wanted to reach out to her.

Embrace her.

Find the pleasure he had never truly known.

He wanted to feel her lips upon his own, upon his skin. He wanted the tongue which darted out of her mouth to caress his neck, his chest, down his body. It was downright painful to want something so badly.

"Sir?" She came to sit next to him, and finally, his lustful mind was put back to its proper place when he felt the cushion below him move under her weight.

"Miss Elizabeth?"

"I do believe I have a debt to pay. This is your chance to collect, for I am certain I am going to retire as soon as I can be assured of an unexposed retreat to my bed chamber."

"Ah, yes, an honest answer to an honest question. I do believe you when you said you have no secrets, so that does take some of the fun out it, does it not?"

She looked away from him and answered with the impertinent inflection which seemed to draw him in. "I suppose that depends on how clever you may be, Mr. Darcy."

Dare he ask one of the questions which were burning in his mind? Surely her manner just now indicated she may have a favorable reply.

 _Can I truly ask if she will allow me to kiss her or if she could come to regard me with any possible affection_?

He knew it would be as good as a declaration if he asked either question, and it could not be undone.

 _How did I get to this point? I was supposed to remove myself from her completely until she left for home_. _A match with her is impossible_.

Whether he was too fearful of rejection or too much of a gentleman to give rise to her expectations he was unsure he could fulfill, he realized he was not ready for any reply she could give. So, instead he asked something he had not intended, but he felt clever enough.

"Very well, madam. My question, and remember you must provide an honest answer, is this… what was the question you intended to ask me if you had won?"

"What?! It is not fair, sir! I lost, and therefore, I do not have a question for you."

"Shh… and, come now. Do not tell me you had not meditated on what you may ask if by some small chance you were to actually best me."

There was a little outrage registered on her face, and he decided he admired that look very much. Passion in her eyes was most becoming… especially when he sat next to her in a shadowy room illuminated only by the softest pale glow an autumn moon could proffer.

"I recall, Mr. Darcy, that you only lost by a margin, and you should not be so arrogant. With a little practice on my part, it will be you who will owe me next."

"Think as you like, but a win is a win. And, I'd like to collect now."

She huffed and resituated herself among the pillows in the window seat. He would have been concerned he may have pushed her too far if he did not see the little smirk she was doing her best to hide from him.

"As you wish then." The smirk faded, and it almost seemed as if she were suddenly shy. He did not give much thought or notice as to how easily he read her expressions.

"Mr. Darcy, I intended to ask… ask if you truly only find me only tol…" She trailed off and looked to her hands without finishing the word. He did not understand what it was she intended to ask nor why she seemed uncomfortable.

To alleviate her suffering and before he could tell her it was not so important she say whatever it was, Elizabeth Bennet lifted her chin a little too defiantly and for what reason he could not comprehend.

"Actually sir, I intended to ask why it is you are generally so reticent and, I am sorry to say, occasionally disagreeable and even disdainfully proud when in company – what say you?"

 _What?_

By the compassion which quickly stole over her face, he knew she realized she went too far.

She reached out a hand to cover his arm. He flinched but let her offer some succor.

"Perhaps that was not well said. I mean to say, ask… how is it you can be everything a charming gentleman this evening? Clearly, you can please as you wish. But, all other times we have been in company, you talk to hardly anyone outside your own party, refuse to join in conversation, and should I say even refuse to dance. I am puzzled by how differently you act tonight. I cannot reconcile this."

 _Everything a charming gentleman_? _Have I pleased her tonight?_ A glimmer of hope flickered inside of him. And, he hoped to deflect her question by reminding her that he had in truth been refused a dance twice by her.

She conceded the point and asked if he had any other defense.

"No Miss Bennet, I do not. The wager was such that the loser must answer the question. You answered mine, and now we are settled. I owe you no answer, and truthfully, I am not sure I could provide an adequate reply to such a query."

Of course, his response was not enough for Elizabeth. She was as stubborn as the mules that worked on his lands. Her persistent nature was also something not wholly unexpected given what he knew of her.

She argued that it was only fair he elaborate since he forced her to submit the question.

After several volleys, he capitulated as she stared straight through him with those so very lovely eyes.

He did not wish to open himself up in such a way – her question greatly damaged the little pride which he had only just reclaimed after completely losing it earlier in the afternoon.

She now stripped him down again.

 _Disdainful? Disagreeable?_ He wished to cease her smart mouth by pushing her further into the window seat, silencing her. He would show her he was not always so _reticent_.

Finally, no matter how difficult to admit, he agreed to give her an adequate but entirely truthful response.

"Miss Elizabeth, would you believe I can be shy around those I do not know well? I do not seem to catch the tone of other's conversations. It is not easy for me to converse with someone when I do not truly know or have a care for their concerns."

She shook her head. "You are right to hesitate that I may not believe you. I cannot completely reconcile it. You most certainly are capable of pleasing where you wish. You are a man of sense and education. And, I now have my very own proof that you can be full of conversation. I do concede that perhaps you may be naturally shy although I have never seen evidence of such a nature, but I believe it is more a matter of you not wanting to take a small step outside of what you deem comfortable. You, Mr. Darcy, do not lack for confidence."

Though he wished her to be more understanding, he reveled in the warm feelings produced by her faith in abilities he was sure he lacked. However, he would feel even greater warmth if she deigned to place her hand over his arm again.

"For example Mr. Darcy, there are several people I truly have no wish to concern myself with, but I know it is my duty to act a good neighbor and friend. And, by doing so, I usually cannot stop myself from the eventuality of caring for their concerns by virtue of just listening and engaging. It takes some effort on my part to begin, but it is an effort that I gladly give. I do not let natural inclinations toward selfishness be my excuse. Otherwise, I may never talk with anyone save Jane and my father. The only thing you are in want of is a little exertion."

 _Yes, exertion. I am most certainly in need_. He refocused and decided he could not allow Elizabeth to consider herself as ungenerous in any way.

"You? Natural inclination toward selfishness? You give yourself too little worth. Your being here at Netherfield to nurse your sister proves you anything but. However, as for me, perhaps your assessment is correct in that I am the _one_ who is selfish, Miss Bennet."

He could not help the rakish grin he gave her, and it surprised him he could not care less at her abusing him so earlier… especially when she did it with such playful and self-depreciating gentleness.

"Oh, truly, Mr. Darcy? Just like that… you agree to my sketch of your character? I cannot believe it of you that you are without a more firm rebuttal. But, if it is the case, then you may have leave to thank me for the service of pointing out your deficiencies. And, I am not sure to be grateful for your not taking offense, or rather if I should count it as evidence of you not truly caring for any opinion but your own."

"Madam, I have not wholly agreed with you but only suggest you may have a point to consider. And, if I were you, I would be grateful no offense is taken. I believe I have allowed to you in previous conversation that I cannot vouch for my temper."

"Well then, I am grateful… and satisfied." She gave a little laugh and arched her brow in a manner which begged for him to kiss the little wrinkle on her forehead.

He would not be the first to look away from her, and for a moment, it seemed she would not either.

"So, Mr. Darcy, if it is your shyness which causes one to only think you find all of the neighborhood disagreeable, then tell me, are you truly enjoying your time in Hertfordshire with your friend, his sisters, and Mr. Hurst?"

He leaned back into the wall at his back, formality being long forgotten. "I am, very much. Besides two of my cousins, Charles is perhaps my closest friend. I do not think anyone can find his company unpleasant."

She gave him a look which suggested her wit was imminent. "Yes, Mr. Bingley is all affability. And, of course, his sisters are all that are charming creatures."

"Oh, come now, do you really enjoy professing opinions which are not truly your own?"

She dramatically feigned an offended look to which he wordlessly expressed he easily saw through it, and they both began to laugh.

"At times, absolutely I enjoy owning sentiments which do not strictly belong to me. But, I suppose in all seriousness, I do give Miss Bingley acknowledgement for being an expert hostess. I truly did not expect her to offer an invitation to remain with Jane. It was very kind."

With a bow of his head and in all seriousness, he said, "oh, yes, Miss Bingley is the consummate hostess."

"Well, are you not unfailingly polite, Mr. Darcy?"

He shook his head and bent forward to lean a little closer. "Miss Bennet, you cannot have it both ways. Earlier you called me disagreeable and disdainful, and now I am polite. I do believe you threw in a 'charming' at some point as well. Have you reached a verdict in your judgement of my character?"

She did not move away from him but took both hands pulling the long curls hanging in front of her shoulder back as she lifted her chin. "It is not for me to judge. I am merely an observer. And, I am coming to believe perhaps your character is far too complex for me to do it any credit at present."

"Such praise coming from you, indeed."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: This is the last chapter I am posting this evening/morning. I JUST POSTED CHAPTERS THREE - FIVE. Make sure you read those first!**

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Through the door, they heard a distinct chime followed by another. They drew away from each other. They were much too near for either's own good.

He was ready for her to make her excuses and be off to bed, but she surprised him.

"So, how long of duration is your friendship with Mr. Bingley?"

"Since Cambridge."

"He is a most amiable man and seems of good character. Can you vouch for it?"

He looked at her with questioning eyes. He had come to terms with her sketching his character, as she did so with humor and grace he found more appealing by the minute, but for her to bluntly question his dearest friend's was concerning.

"Charles Bingley is one of the best men I have the pleasure calling a friend. His character is impeachable, and I would vouch for it in any manner required."

She smiled at him. "Loyal, too."

"I do not have the pleasure of understanding you, madam."

Before he realized the umbrage he was exuding, she pointed it out. "Sir, I did not mean offense and pray you forgive me for causing it. You, see, I am a fierce protector of my sister… of all of them."

He still failed to understand her. "I, too feel the same towards my sister as she is the only one of immediate family I have left. But, I do not understand where your question tends toward my friend. He is an honorable man."

"Perhaps, I should clarify that I am a guardian of my sister's heart. Her heart is all that is pure and good, and I do not wish to see it damaged. If it were, I fear it would be irrevocable. Please do not make me explain my concern any plainer."

 _Ohhhh_.

Pictures and scenes of his friend in the company with Miss Jane Bennet shuffled around his mind until they were well ordered and he clearly saw his friend's actions for what they were. While he himself was being a besotted fool pining after one Bennet sister, his friend was pining after another.

Unfortunately, Darcy was in a difficult place. He did not wish to speak anything close to ill of his friend, but he felt he owed Miss Elizabeth the truth.

"I understand the sentiment very well. I suppose Miss Bennet to be much like my gentle sister, Georgianna." Really, he understood much too well, for he had seen the havoc heartache could cause in one so tender.

"I have seen Charles in love many times over with nothing coming of it. I do not know the current state of his affections. But, I do maintain my friend's decency and integrity. He would never raise expectations where he would not follow through. I do believe the best in him."

"Thank you. I will leave it to fate and not warn my sister, nor will I encourage her."

He nodded his silent agreement that he would leave it alone as well. She was correct, fate could determine the future of his friend and her sister.

"So, the younger sister protecting the older sister? Has it always been thus? Should it not be the other way around?"

"Well, Jane can certainly be everything the older sister should be when needed to manage us younger ones. But, she is too sweet and tender by half, always seeing the best in the world no matter how untenable a situation, and she is too willing to take too much on herself, even to her own detriment. I will always do what I can to guard her."

She looked out over the gardens, and he saw the watery eyes she was doing her best to hide from him. She was fidgeting with the fridge on a pillow she moved over her lap and finally gave a smile to the sky.

"I am just enough critical and can see the world for what it is, and I possess an even judgement to foil or temper Jane's overly good nature when needed. It has always been so, and I will always seek to shield my dear sisters from hurt if is in my power."

Fitzwilliam rose and looked down thinking her special combination of sincerity and fearlessness was just what his dear sister needed… it was what he needed too.

" _Even judgement_ , Miss Bennet? _Really_? I do believe you have called me everything from charming and a man of good sense to proud and disdainful. Pray forgive me if I call to question your _even judgement_."

She picked up the pillow and threw it at him. He laughed imagining her wanting to do that many times before now but being restricted by the etiquette required in polite company. Oh, he much rather enjoyed spending his time with her this way.

"Are you to point out my defects now, sir? Perhaps it is my own wounded pride that lead me to be a little too prejudice in my assessment of you."

"Wounded pride? Who could wound you so? Surely not me. If anything, I am sure I have gratified your vanity."

Elizabeth pulled her knees up on the bench now that he stood across from her perched on the billiards table. She held her hands out and studied her fingers. "Truly? You are too teasing by half, sir. Let us drop _that_ subject."

"Very well. So, Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire. The second sister, but the protector of all. Generous friend and neighbor who puts forth the effort to care for everyone. Impeccable judgement… especially when it comes to gentlemen of questionable character. An impertinent mixture of wit and kindness… even a kind word for our hostess, Miss Bingley. Avid reader. Intelligent. Great walker. Novice billiards player with _some_ potential. Finds amusement in all things such as hiding in the drapes to avoid being forever compromised by a man she may very well despise… You too may be a complex character madam, but I feel I have enough information to form a rough outline. And, I think it is only fair. But, tell me what else should I add to my portrait of _you_?"

He was too afraid to say aloud everything else he thought of her… _beautiful face, shapely hips, full breasts, succulent lips, delicate skin, expressive eyes that pierced through him, teasing, tempting, perfect_ …

"Well, I suppose you might add very expert dancer."

"I have not experienced it for myself since you saw fit to decline me… twice."

"Fine, in all honesty, you may add resentful… which I believe is the reason for not dancing with you. I dare you to puzzle that one out for yourself, sir. But, you may add a redeeming quality of loving my family with all my heart and owing them my loyalty." She quietly added, "They are not perfect, but they are mine and the family God has blessed me with."

He studied her not understanding what she meant by describing herself as resentful in declining his requests or why she grew so quiet over the subject of her family. But, it made him think of his own.

Georgie was all he had. His mother had been gone over ten years and his father over five. What he would give to have them back, even for a day.

Though Elizabeth's family left much in the way to be desired, she clearly knew the value in having them close… and above the ground. She did not take their presence for granted as perhaps he had done in his youth with his own… or how he took Georgianna for granted until this past summer when the worst had come to pass.

What did it matter the Bennets were sometimes uncouth, vulgar or, as in the case of her father, nowhere to be found when restraint was required? They were good people who loved each other and protected each other. That was everything which was good and honorable.

If she knew how he judged them or the remarks he had made about them on occasion, she would surely never speak to him again. He felt fully rebuked though she had not been direct.

So lost to his own thought, he did not notice her pushing up from her seat to stand in front of him until she reached out briefly and placed her hand over his only to quickly withdrawal it.

"Mr. Darcy, I can sense family is important to you as well. My guess is you are not only a protective older brother as you described, but you are a doting one as well? I cannot imagine having full charge of one who is Lydia's age. It takes a good character to be father and brother so successfully. If Miss Bingley is to be believed by half, it sounds as you have done a wonderful job caring for her."

He raised his pensive eyes to her sweet face. _Would she say the same if she knew just how deficient I was in Georgie's care_?

"Thank you."

"I should now go to bed, but I cannot leave you frowning so." She crossed her arms and gave him a determined smile. "So, tell me, Mr. Darcy, before I drift back to my rooms, did you really intend to use your hard-won question only to ask me what I would in-turn have asked you?"

 _Absolutely not. You would not be standing here before me looking so lovely if I had asked for what I wanted. You would decidedly be much more disheveled._

He smirked at the thought and met her quizzical brow with the sardonic raise of his own. "You shall have to win next time in order for me to answer."

"I shall hold you to it then, sir."

He laughed as she dropped a curtsey. What use was a curtsey when she was in her dressing gown and they had skirted all propriety?

He hopped down from the table to return the gesture. As he rose from a deep bow, he grabbed her right hand in both of his own and raised it to his mouth. He took a deep breath and kissed her skin with slightly parted lips, lingering over her with his eyes closed wishing to always have her hand to kiss.

"Goodnight, my dear Miss Elizabeth. Sleep well."

He gave her hand a squeeze, not letting go, and opened his eyes to hers which were wide and blinking. Her bottom lip was trembling as it was caught between her teeth. She looked like a doe caught in his sights as if she knew the final blow was but moments away.

It was so endearing and tempting all at once. His desire to kiss her lips as he had her hand was overpowering. And, when he leaned his head in closer, so close he could sense she was holding her breath, he reluctantly gave her a smile instead and pulled away, dropping her hand. He wanted her to be at ease more than he dared to please himself.

Her hands came up to her face and he could see the deep blush which rested on her cheeks. She closed her eyes slowly, and he fought valiantly to not pull her into his arms when she finally returned his smile.

As quickly as she opened her eyes, she turned to fetch her shawl and book leaving him standing there. Before she turned the handle of the door, she looked to him. "Have a pleasant night… well, what is left of it. And, I hope your sleep doesn't terrorize you as it did this afternoon."

He could only find humor in that and was thankful the moonlight couldn't illuminate him so fully for her to see his own embarrassment from across the room. "One can hope."

To that, she quietly left him alone.

He let out a breath and threw himself into the window propping his feet on a pillow and leaning his head into the corner where he could feel just enough cool glass on his cheek to calm his racing heart. He looked up at the moon wishing it held the answer to the unasked questions which now lied within his chest.

He gravely miscalculated by walking into this room tonight. He had done the exact opposite of what he set out to avoid. He should have walked out as soon as he saw her.

It was not so bad that his honor was engaged.

No, it was worse than that.

He had felt the danger of paying her too much attention, and now he was sure his heart was as good as wasted and gone. It had followed her up the stairs.

The only redemption he could see was that he had only wanted to throw her on the billiards table six or seven times… nine at most. He could easily imagine her at Pemberley, as his wife, on a night like this when they could not sleep.

They would enjoy an evening playing games with each other, laughing and discussing nothing and everything. And, when she gave him that impertinent look or was too witty for her own good, he would lock the door and hoist her up on the table, legs dangling over the edge, where he would stand between them and run his hands from her ankles to her neck feeling every soft place he wished.

He would open her dressing gown, pulling it and whatever was underneath from her body throwing the unnecessary garments to the floor. He would run his fingers through her hair and kiss every captivating inch of her skin for his own pleasure and maybe driving her as mad in the process.

What would it be like to see Elizabeth Bennet lost in passion, passion for him? He could imagine her kissing him with the same vivacity and warmth that seemed to be innate to her.

 _Ohh_ …

He could envision her exquisite naked body pulling his over hers as she inched back on the table, her hands roaming under his shirt, her nails tantalizing his skin, down his back, farther, and into his –

"Ahem."

He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling of the window nook. _Please do not be her_.

"I… well, I forgot my candle."

He did not respond and only closed his eyes in acute disgrace. She had been gone from his presence for all of two minutes and there he was allowing his carnal thoughts to go too far. Could he not wait until he reached the privacy of his bed chamber? At least he had not acted on them.

"I need some light to get back to my room."

He now chanced to look. It was a mistake. All he wanted to do was go to her and pin her against the wall until she returned each kiss with the same feelings which were pent up in him.

He could see the rise and fall of her breast from where she stood. He almost groaned when he saw her lick her lips before her intensely beautiful eyes met his.

If he moved an inch, he would be done for. He would act in such a way he would require a special license or be faced with pistols at dawn – her father meeting him on the field. Mr. Bennet may have seemed an indolent man, but he was a gentleman nevertheless.

As was he.

Focusing back on the ceiling, he wished her to get her candle and go before he lost all respectability.

He heard her whisper so quietly he could not make out what she said. As much as he wished to stand and at least acknowledge her, it was not possible, but he also could not fail to offer assistance if she had difficulty navigating back to her chamber. It was not as if he could call a maid to attend her.

"Shall I escort you to bed, Miss Bennet?"

 _No, no, no_. "For your safety, of course. Only to your chamber door, that is."

She was silent. But, he still could not look at her. All he wished to do was sweep her up the stairs… to his bedchamber or hers. It did not matter to him which.

"It is probably better that you do not." He hardly heard her reply, but he clearly heard the door open and close.

He began to conjugate Latin verbs until he was master of himself… or at least until he rationally realized that after the night he just spent with her, it was likely he would never be his own master again. Somehow, in the span of three hours, he had relinquished some unknown power to her.

His heart had been fallow for far too long, and tonight something of promise had been sown. Something he never thought possible. If he chose to nurture it, perhaps the bounty would be beyond his wildest imaginings.

He swung his feet down and walked the corridors silently to his room letting the now bright, scattered moonlight show him the way among the shadows.

He was so distracted in thinking of all the possibilities Elizabeth Bennet presented to his future he could not help a small smile from gracing his lips or keep the occasional laugh from escaping where it bubbled in his chest. Thus, he completely failed to realize a candle was not required to move about on a night like this. Not by him, and most likely not by anyone else. No, with the uncovered glazed halls of Netherfield, the moonlight was quite sufficient.

* * *

 **A/N:** So... what are you all thinking? I would love to know!

Oh, and I am purposely withholding Elizabeth's POV. Maybe at the end, we will get an idea of her thoughts. I seem to think she just now may be a little less oblivious.

PS - I am working on proofing/editing the next couple chapters of my other story. Hopefully, within the week I can update. (But, don't hold me to it. Work is brutal right now!)


	7. Chapter 7

Fitzwilliam Darcy trotted along on the back of his Bess insensible to the crisp air and everything else an autumn morning in Hertfordshire provided. His mind was still surrounded by the events of two nights previous and the last time _she_ had spoken with him. That particular night, perhaps the best in his life, could have only gone better if he had woke up with his fingers entwined in her hair, her leg wrapped around his hip, her mouth… _No, better not go there_.

His horse bucked a bit as if reminding him to be the gentleman rider he was. It appeared Bess was much like her namesake, perhaps he should mind the Good Queen and strive for his mind stay in moral purity… for at least as long as possible… _the next five minutes?_

 _Impossible when I have not laid my eyes her form in over four and twenty hours_.

Nevertheless, Darcy _had_ rightly seen Elizabeth Bennet the next morning after their accidental assignation in the billiards room; she was just not as dewy and tousled as he would have wished.

She had appeared at the breakfast table prior to their party boarding the carriage for Sunday services. As much as he silently willed her to look his way, she would not.

No little tongue darting out to catch a dab of cream smattered on her lip, no neckline just a little too low to tempt his restraint, and not even an acknowledgement that now they might be friends after such a night of intimacy… even if it was intimacy which did not really cross such any sort of defined line. No, no, clear lines were most certainly not crossed… just the obscured ones.

 _Such a tormenting wisp of a…_

His horse gave a shake before he could finish that thought. "Yes, Bess, friendship is irrevocably out of the question now. At least _that_ line was crossed."

"Pardon, Darce?"

"Nothing, Bingley. Let us ride on."

The men directed their steeds upward and onward toward the slip of a town that was Meryton on a cloudless Monday morning, and Darcy allowed his mind to assail him again of the previous day.

Despite not having his lady muse all mussed in his arms upon waking on the Lord's Day, he had woken yesterday morning feeling calmer and at peace than he had since the summer previous – it was such a content feeling. One night spent in her company – even fully clothed and not bodily attached, and he felt revived.

And being so finely affected, he at least expected a nod of acknowledgment when he entered the breakfast room before they departed for services. Was one of her smiles too much to ask?

 _Apparently so_.

He spent his time pretending to eat his eggs but instead was doing everything he could to catch her eye short of dripping his yolk into the four folds of his white neckcloth. Though he had only seen her hours previous in Bingley's game room, he wanted to know if the morning light held as much promise as the moonlight had.

 _Apparently not_.

After shaking the paper out more than was necessary and clearing his throat no less than five times, he finally had settled for the direct approach of wishing her a good morning, but before he gathered the courage to speak aloud in front the assembled group, Bingley's sister had to enter the room with all her stately airs and something dreadfully fowl upon her head. Did a morning's worship really require such an animal sacrifice?

My god, they were English Christians, not pagans of antiquity.

 _Perhaps Miss Bingley qualifies as both_? If the dead canary on her head had his say prior to being stuffed and dyed, he would certainly cast Miss Bingley into the lot of the latter.

"Dear Lord, Caroline! What in the blazes has roosted in your hair?" Mr. Hurst's bluntness could occasionally be counted upon when needed, and Darcy chuckled again to himself of the horror which went around the breakfast parlor the morning before.

The vain woman's decidedly unfashionable choices were good for something at least when Elizabeth looked up from her plate. She did not smile. But, her cheeks were pink and when her eyes met his, he knew the laughter was tucked away into the brilliance.

Finally… a connection – he would take it.

He had not even noticed the faint puffs under her lashes which showed perhaps too little slumber.

Somehow, Darcy, the Bingleys, Bennets, and Hursts all made their way to the little parish church not above three miles away. Silence was the order of the morning after Miss Bingley's spectacular set-down of Hurst in response to his careless observations.

Bingley and Darcy wisely chose to ride instead of entering the carriage that morning. As much as handsome Bennet women and the promise of confined space were privately a draw to perhaps both men, the screeching scene at breakfast was still too fresh and awful for Darcy to be tempted by the almost longing look Elizabeth shot his way as she was handed in the conveyance.

Horses eventually stopped in front of the stone chapel, steps were lowered, and the ladies were escorted out and down by an abandoned Hurst, who really did not care for being the only male in a carriage of four ladies. At least Darcy and his friend dismounted to offer their services of escort.

Darcy was jolted back into the present Monday morning from the one before by his horse's effortless jump and adjusted his seat.

He kicked Bess into a full gallop leaving Bingley in his dust. Better to remove himself lest he call out his friend for having a witch of a sister. _An offense, helped or not, worth a fight to at least first blood_.

He did not like to think on the exhibition which occurred yesterday in the parish yard, but a steeple now clearly in the distance called it into his mind anyhow.

 _Such a brash, horrible…._

When the gentlemen went to move the ladies into the church, somehow Darcy managed to outmaneuver the feather-headed shrew to instead offer his arm to the woman who captured his interests most.

Miss Bingley was not pleased, to say the least, and as Darcy flicked a coin to a young lad to tend his prized horse who was cooling off from their short ride, _Evil Incarnate_ let her jealous wrath be known as she was forced to take her brother-in-law's hockish arm.

"Ah, Mr. Darcy, your queen is a supreme little thing. How charming for you publically bring her to the church today so all these fine people may see your superior selection in fillies. We would have made room in the carriage, you know. I do hope it was no burden to ride Elizabeth as savagely as you have and on God's day no less. But, I suppose it is in her nature to enjoy a thorough tumble in the wide open with a gentleman such as yourself – such a vigorous, impertinent creature prancing around as she does! I dare say I fail to understand how you appreciate such insolence despite the fineness of her features."

Darcy felt Miss Elizabeth tense to a stop and turn her body as if to offer a firm defense. How was she to know the formal name of his horse? Not that it mattered, the slight went inflicted where it was intended. And, some insults were too clear-cut to go unchecked.

He could feel the flames rolling off her, and it was more of the brimstone variety as opposed to the sensual intensity he recalled from the night before when his body almost ran the length of hers over the edge of the billiards table.

He had quickly covered her hand where it rested on his arm with an assuring grip, and that seemed to stop her long enough to allow the _other_ Elizabeth, Elizabeth Tudor, Defender of Faith, _Good Queen Bess,_ to respond apropos. He could not have played it better than his horse.

 _No wonder I hold this beast in such esteem_.

Said beast, a true regal piece of horseflesh, named for a virgin queen, and who was also at the center of Miss Bingley's comments, was held in place firmly by the young lad. But, having a mind of her own (just the same as the lady who coincidentally shared the name), she chose at that moment to give a snort of disapproval. A slippery string of clear discharge sputtered a short distance landing squarely on Miss Bingley's late bird friend.

Before the Bigley crone could squawk, Darcy raised both brows and issued a glare that none in their party could mistake for anything other than grave disapproval. "My horse, named for our past Monarch, Elizabeth of England, or as I affectionately refer to her as Bess, clearly does not approve of your comments, Miss Bingley. And, as her admirer, I do care for your insulting words either. But, please accept my handkerchief."

All be damned, as much as he wished against it, he bowed as slight as he dared, produced a linen square for Miss Bingley with one hand, and pulled _Miss_ Elizabeth Bennet closer with the other. He leveled a look to those around him daring them to speak. " _Miss_ Elizabeth, may I escort you to your family?"

She inclined her head then looked Caroline Bingley square in the eyes knowing the witnesses were already in place. And then, she did the unthinkable, she lifted her chin and deliberately looked away.

The only sound was Miss Bennet's gasp.

Good God, he hoped never to be the target of the daggers coming from her eyes. It was bad enough to be in the vicinity. For all that Elizabeth was good and kind, she apparently did not take an affront on her back.

And that begged the question, what would she accept on her back? Or would he be the one on his back as she took control over him just as she had done with Miss Bingley?

He pushed those thoughts away and neither said a word as they led their party to the church. When he kept her closer than what was correct, she did not pull away. And, the warmth transferring from her to him which was the earlier result of her blameless fury was somehow spreading into a feeling he should not feel as he walked into a church.

He was honored to come to her defense and at least publically correct the matter of the name of his horse, but she was a woman to stand on her own if required. Independent, so far above any crass behavior to acknowledge it with a war of words. No, like him, she was a person of action when so required.

She was a strange combination of Athena and Aphrodite. He had no doubt the cut she had just given Bingley's sister would have something more akin to bloodshed had they not been standing in the parish yard. It would not have even been a contest.

He worshipped her strength of composure and wished to tell her, but she remained silent and he thought he should keep his commendations and apologies mute as well lest he run away with himself and march her up the nave to demand the parson marry them straight away so he could carry her off and exhibit how emboldened he was by her own self-possession.

The object of his veneration cleared her delicate throat, and the only hint of her return to calm civility was a strange smile she graced him as she moved into the pew with her father.

Mr. Bennet stood and his mien was not a kind one. Once Darcy noticed the other man, he cast the crazed reverence off his person and willed his face… and only his face to be hard as he hastily took to his own seat.

As it seemed, God was not the only one to fear if he accidentally gave any indication of the unchaste sensations Miss Elizabeth's gloved hand and poise in the face of malevolence induced his person.

Better yet, he should take up Miss Bingley's sacrificial cause and go find some innocent lamb's blood to anoint over his head.

He needed some way to expunge the sins of his mind because his free-will was not allowing him a choice in the matter of pure thoughts. If some version of a Passover occurred in this very Christian house, he was well-aimed for hell. _I am a first-born after all_.

Oh, how the sight of her righteous indignation fueled his basest passion, and it was not abating at the droning of the clergyman. He closed his eyes during the prayer and sent one up for his wasted self. He almost seduced Elizabeth Bennet on a Billiards table the night before, and now in the light of day, he could not control his desires.

He should not be experiencing these kinds of feelings in a house of his Lord and Savior. _Yes, I need a savior, and she is in the form of lithe limbs, ample curves, and inner strength_.

 _God save me._

 _And, God save her should she not save me first_.

The parishioners were led in song. Darcy chanced a glance across the aisle.

Then he saw it. A single tear escaped her eye.

If Caroline Bingley were a man and a gentleman at that, he would have called her out.

The sweet, playful woman of the moonlight he had almost kissed was hurt despite the strength she showed.

Better yet, _God save Caroline Bingley_.

* * *

"Darcy! I say, Darcy! Slow your beast, man. You cannot go barreling into town like a horseman of the Apocalypse."

 _I certainly feel like one_.

Darcy reluctantly slowed his horse. He was still angry with Bingley for not sending Miss Bingley to London after yesterday.

"Come now. Let's make our way through Meryton and then on to Longbourn. I am eager to know if Miss Bennet is feeling well."

Darcy nodded and refrained from rolling his eyes. After Elizabeth had hinted, he now realized his friend was utterly infatuated with the elder Miss Bennet. It was pathetic, almost pathetic as his own obsession with the sister.

This reminder added to Darcy's foul mood.

"I say, perhaps we do not have to go all the way to Longbourn. Look there Miss Bennet is with her sisters… and some gentlemen." Bingley kicked his horse to trot ahead.

Darcy went to do the same as his eyes alighted for the woman who flooded his senses even when she was not near.

There was a prick in his chest.

She was not alone.

If Bingley had thought he was a horseman sent to reign down damnation just a few moments previous, now the whole town of Meryton would witness Fitzwilliam Darcy as a harbinger of judgement. He may as well have had his sword in hand and his horse painted red.

Elizabeth Bennet had his full attention. And, now it was not himself who was in danger.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, some seemed to encourage me to make this into a story... though it will not be a long one. Had to introduce a little conflict I suppose. My apologies if anyone finds my references a little too sacrilege.

The light-hearted fun will return at the end of the next chapter.

Also, didn't really proofread part of this as I'm sick and just want to go to bed. Ignore the typos and I'll try to fix tomorrow if they are too glaring.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N** :

Well, my friends... I have been hoarding chapters for a long, long, very long time. It is only because I don't like them much. So, I'm just going to post them and get this part over with. Please note that I may take a while to post, but I'll never abandon a story unless I'm convinced it is 1000% rubbish.

If you are still interested, you may wish to refresh yourself with this story - i.e. scan the previous chapters.

It has been light and fluffy up until the last of the last chapter. There are a few chapters now where there is more conflict, so bear up. Once I get over these next few segments, we'll return to rainbows, sunshine, and Darcy's blue balls. Perhaps you will at least be entertained enough to keep reading? Please tell me in your comments.

PS - the day I am posting this, I shall post several chapters. So, keep your eye on your email. It may take me a few hours.

Gracias to all those who have left comments, followed, and generally encouraged me with interest.

Usual disclaimer: no beta for this one; yes, I'm working diligently on my other stories.

* * *

The dust whirled at Bess's feet as her master pushed her thundering down the street as the people of the small market town stupidly stared from the casements of their shops and apartments. What captured their attention so ghastly was a man possessed atop his impressive steed.

Thoughts of Wickham's every treachery spurred Darcy onward until he pulled the reigns taught.

Despite the throngs, at least if tallied by Meryton's standards, there were only two in his line of vision, and the two did not belong together – not in any circumstance. It was not to be allowed. He was hers and not be tainted by another.

Had Darcy not come to know her better, his pride just might hold him in the saddle – grim-faced and silent – unmoving yet controlled and able to dismiss the unnatural yearnings to shoot a man cold. But, disengaged he could no longer be, and in that, there was a real superiority: under the shadows produced by just one candle and the moon's fractured light, he had already fallen for the imp in her dressing gown with hair unbound. And now, under the morning's illumination for all to see and not quite two days thence the moment his heart finally yielded, he would rise to protect his interests and fail not as he had done before.

The thud of his boots on the graveled street matched the thud in his heart as he marched himself to the man who had wreaked a havoc in his life for no other reason than prodigal jealousy and spite. Darcy brought himself to a halt and attended his ire where it was due.

"Wickham." _Would that I had a pistol_.

The other man's face lost its color but not entirely its defiance. Pride, in some form, overly favored them both it seemed. And only after a moment, the dastard recovered, stood taller, and gave a bow which inflicted mockery to only his intended target.

"Darcy."

How long did the silence stretch? To Darcy's mind felt it seconds but to his body, contorted in tottering control, felt it minutes.

"Darcy, how astounding to see you here! I have just had the pleasure of forming a new acquaintance. May I present Miss Elizabeth Bennet and her sisters?"

Darcy dared not look to _her_. "You have not the right," he spat out.

She gasped. He turned. For the smallest of moments, the startled wide set of her eyes constrained Darcy so much as to allow him to find some semblance of his natural self and those manners beat and bred into him since he was in short pants. He bowed and acknowledged her with much more civility than he felt in his present situation, "Miss Elizabeth." _What that I could claim her by another name._ Possession was in full progress within his chest.

And with possession came the loss of that sliver of rationality as heat and anger infused his very soul at her proximity to such a man. He purposefully turned so she would not see the abhorrence writ upon his face. It would not do to have such a fine lady be subject to the harsh words and actions he had for his one-time companion. "Wickham, a word."

Darcy spun, leather ribbons still gripped in hand, and made to cross the street away from the onlookers who had now ceased their conversations in favor of paying their attentions to the drama unfolding before them. Wrath surrounded Darcy so that it had pulled in a gallery right there in the street.

After a few steps away, Wickham's boot falls did not follow, and so Darcy strode back to the one who dared now to defy him. Darcy felt the disdain roll from his tongue and the Devil could take it if it mattered who heard him now. "I have no compunction to avail myself here. Not any longer. It is your folly if you choose so public a – "

"Ah. Well, certainly, I am at your service, Darcy. Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, ladies… charmed, indeed." For a man in the crosshairs of righteous resentment, Mr. Wickham held his head high and smirked like a fiend, taking his time to bow over the ladies' hands, pressing his old enemy with every second which passed.

Not of his accord, Darcy balled his free fist and his target became singular in view. His fingers coiled intimately like a nest of adders ready to strike. He was not one easily agitated into aggression, but when trodden upon one too many times, his dose could no doubt be lethal in defense. Before Darcy unleashed his venom into Whickham's pretty face, a strong grip bit his shoulder providing a short stay. "Darcy, pray allow us to settle into the inn to continue this discussion. Mr. Wickham, would you be so good as to follow?"

Darcy clamped his retort to Bingley. _Ever the damned peace-maker_. The digits on his hand progressively unfurled as the fringe of his surroundings came into view from its previous blurred state.

Elizabeth Bennet's piercing eyes, whose expression was the canvas to her honest mind, came sharpened into view first. _Astonishment, disgust, disappointment, fear?_ He wasn't sure all if which was there, but disapproval was certain, and her chest heaved only slightly less than did his own.

He gave her a curt nod before ignoring the rest of the gaping party of spectators while turning his attention again to the cad who today would know his last of imposing on what Darcy declared as his own and his own to protect: from the beginning it had been the affections of a beloved father which had been generously shared until almost stripped away, and when they were hardly more than boys coming into their own, it was the virtue of Pemberley's own maids who were by virtue his family's to guard against harm. As the larger world became more important it was then Darcy's reputation of unblemished standing at Cambridge which his companion in youth attempted to degrade, followed by the wealth of Pemberley's coffers, and then, most disgustingly, the young heart of his very own sister.

 _No more_. No more would he allow himself to be imposed upon.

The sympathies… or more… of Elizabeth Bennet would not be Wickham's for the taking.

Darcy shrugged away the grip of his stalwart friend and in clipped tones, said, "Bingley – I thank you for your interference," and though he was somewhat sincere, he did not wish his friend to hear what he would say to Wickham, "but, rather this shall be dealt with by only myself–"

Interruption came from a most unsuspected source. "Mr. Bingley, my sisters and I were walking to visit my Aunt Phillips, and we must be getting on. If your company is not required from your friend, we would be most obliged for your escort, Sir."

Miss Bennet's smile was serene as if they were sharing pleasantries over tea in the finest of drawing rooms. Her composure was second to none, and it was as if she understood the need for Bingley's distraction if only by the manner in which her eyes studied the tableau before her. The lady rose in his estimation just as another of Miss Elizabeth's sisters sank further.

"Oh, Jane, we must not forget Mr. Denny! I should need his support in all of this uproar. Do not leave us, Mr. Denny. I feel rather faint and need a strong arm should Mr. Darcy stage a duel." The youngest Bennet babbled with the tones of a giddy brook on a summer's day despite professing herself close to swooning there on the street.

All heads turned to the girl's improper outburst except Darcy; he was still lost on the eldest Miss Bennet's calmness in a most awkward and tense situation. However, as he was the only one watching her closely, he saw the smallest hint of censure directed at her youngest and even at this Mr. Denny, the officer accompanying Mr. Wickham.

No sooner than it could be seen, Miss Jane Bennet squashed the smallest of outward displays and her good breeding commenced with her languid and calming voice. "Lydia, I ask you not to speak so, but Mr. Denny, you are of course most welcome to accompany us." She missed no beat in her polite invitation though Darcy suspected she took issue with either the officer himself or the way Miss Lydia fawned over the man.

It was the least he could do to convey, with the most withering of looks and in support of the elder Miss Bennet, that the officer in question should absent himself and quickly. Darcy would trust no friend of Wickham. The man may not have realized his fleecing yet, or he may as well be a debased partner in the villain's schemes against his fellow man, but Darcy would not take the chance either way. Menacing as his own natural hauteur was, with as much contempt as he could express, Darcy conveyed for all to see that between Wickham and Mr. Denny, there was the need for one to stay exactly as he was and the other to make off with himself if he knew what was good.

Mr. Denny confirmed the message was received as he looked down the street to a mass of white tents in the distance. "Thank you, Miss Bennet. Unfortunately, I am due to see my commanding officer." He bowed to the ladies, carefully untangling his arm from Miss Lydia's grasp, and turned to his friend as if sorry to leave him in an uncertain situation. "Wickham, I am at your service should you need it. And, I trust you will find your way back to Colonel Forster's quarters soon. He is most earnest to gain another officer." He then bowed all around before taking his leave, "Ladies, good Sirs."

Wickham acknowledged his friend briefly with a nod and a misplaced smile, and then he turned to Darcy as if to indicate he was ready to be marched to the inn. Before he lifted his foot though, he seemed to think better than his silence and called after Mr. Denny from over his shoulder. "Denny, I say, I shall be before your Colonel within the hour, unless of course, something more suitable comes my way. I shall send word if that is the case." He smiled again for all the witnesses to see. "Darcy, shall we? As ever, I am resigned to _you_ , my old friend, and I look forward to being in your company once more. I am most obliged to see you to the inn. Let us allow these lovely creatures to be on their way as well."

Darcy looked away in disgust at the duplicitous and mocking ingratiation. And, what he instantly found again was Miss Elizabeth's observant face. He gave a bow to none but her. _If she only knew what a degradation of association I have saved her from_. He willed her to know the service he performed solely on her behalf. He would ruminate another time on how she might show her appreciation.

While he opened his mouth to speak to Bingley, who was now in place to escort Miss Bennet, his gaze was still captured by the most alluring pair of deep brown eyes, wishing their fine owner to know he intended his next words for her as well. The question in her brow demanded he explain himself, and at the first available moment he thought he might, for her, lay himself and his affairs open for her support. "Bingley, I shan't be long."

Tearing his eyes away from Elizabeth, he gave a nod to the party of his acquaintances and a scowl of condescension for all the prying eyes beyond. Turning to the inn, the steps of his once-childhood friend followed this time.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I just posted Ch 8. Please read first if you have not!**

Also, Darcy is a little darker here. What can I say? He is a man of passion - passionate in his love, and passionate in his hate. This dark turn will take a self-correction in the not-too-distant future.

* * *

"Shall I order us an ale, old chap? For the good times, mind you?" The words arrived glib and were accompanied with a slap on the back.

A hot rage blistered under Darcy's skin, but somewhere on the walk to the inn as the distance gained between Wickham and Miss Elizabeth, he recollected he was not a man to lay his grievances before the world as he had just done in the street, and so, instead of beating Wickham to a crumpled mess for all the farmers and shopkeepers to see as they partook in their mid-day sup at the tables of the inn's dining and tap room, he willed himself to act with sense in the opposite proportion to the mercy he would not grant behind closed doors. _This man can flatter my temper no longer_. He repeated it to himself for good measure as if he did, it might be true.

Ignoring Wickham, for the rotter likely did not even have a farthing for a pint, Darcy addressed the innkeeper perched behind the bar, "A private room, man?" Darcy, who had much greater than the farthing Wickham did not, threw down ten and six from his purse.

Whether it was the ridiculous coin or the tempest in the wealthy aristocrat's looks, the innkeeper scuttled them men to privacy in the most generous room he could offer.

Darcy stepped aside as the door swung closed on it noisy hinges, himself emanating the last of the breath he had sucked in. He turned on his one-time friend for what would be a final time. "If you thought it wise to follow me to Hertfordshire, you thought very wrong."

Darcy saw the brief flicker of fear cross Wickham's brow, and Wickham backed himself against the wall before forgetting he did not always consider himself a coward. "It is very unlucky circumstance, I assure you. It was no compliment, you arrogant prig; my life does not revolve around the consequence of yours."

"Indeed." Darcy said nothing more despite the insult and watched Wickham deliberate on his course while he himself stepped forward raising his chin just to look down upon the cadger across from him.

Wickham, knowing he was not going anywhere until Darcy had his say, held his hands up in defense, though his words were marked with anything but. "What is it to you if we occupy the same county? We have occupied much closer quarters although that was before you shoved a broomstick up your arse and denied me what should have been mine."

Darcy stepped closer. "Tell me what is you presume you are owed? A living which you were amply recompensed for? The dowry of a girl who is no older than your oldest bastard? Tell me, are there now more than the three Pemberley currently supports? You are foolhardy to think _me_ in your debt except for much of anything other than what should be your hide. If anything, you have not been denied enough."

Wickham ignored the stealth in Darcy's voice and could only be blasé to rhetoric. "Did you drag me to this dreadful inn to give me a tongue lashing, Fitzy?" Wickham shook out his cuffs and brushed past Darcy to take a seat in a meanly wooden piece of furniture. He crossed his leg and pulled close a fob, no doubt swindled from some poor dandy. "I am not sure what I have done so to ruffle your fancy feathers… at least recently, anyhow. Here I am, attempting to take an honest living, since I am deprived of my rightful one, and you pull me from the street in a fit of demons. Bad form, my friend. And I was making the loveliest of acquaintances, a delectable morsel. But, what might you know about that? Still immune to them all? Tell me I have not mistaken you the whole of our lives for a patron of the molly-house? Oh, god forbid! Yes, how old are you now? I am eight-and-twenty, so that must make you seven-and-twenty. Since that candlestick, or perhaps something else, is still firmly in place, I suppose you have not yet made with the –"

Darcy might have been glowering and ready to jump outside of his skin, but he felt heat prick at the top of his ears. He did not want to overtly react to the reference of Elizabeth, nor the insult to his very inclinations as a man (though, liberally, to each his own), _nor_ most especially to the one of his own morality – so lately in question in his own mind – however, in the face of this new provocation it was difficult to keep his boots nailed to the floor.

Wickham laughed; it was an evil sniggering sound. Darcy again wished for his pistol to just be done with the wretch. He had money and standing plenty to claim justice enough.

It seemed morality was becoming again overrated by the moment.

The laugh stopped abruptly as Wickham, who was by no means daft, recognized Darcy's reaction in the dusty street for what it was – the brown-haired Miss Bennet was indeed a tempting armful! "Is _that_ what this is all about? I was finally in the right place at the right time – how fortunate! Excuse my comment about the molly-house! Your predilections, it seems, are not to run far from my own. _She_ is a prime piece though I did not think she looked quite up to snuff for the likes of you. But what is fortune to a perfectly rounded pair of kettledrums a man could lose his head in? Miss… what was her name? Oh, yes, Miss Elizabeth! Have you finally had your quill dipped? A mistress for you in this shabby little town of Meryton, eh wot? She could not surely be an object of interest so strong as to be suited to become Mistress of Pemb –"

Wickham and the back of his now broken chair found themselves on the slate tile floor.

Darcy had lost his self-control. He had tackled a man before, but it had been some years past, and this time it was no less violent. A hand was at the cad's throat. "If you ever again refer to any lady by the name of Bennet or Darcy for that matter, if you so much as look at Elizabeth, her sisters – even her mother, your days will be numbered by a short quantity. Do not doubt I have the resources, and do not doubt that I have any charity or honor for your pathetic person – there is no one to care you might be shot dead and disposed of in a ditch to rot. I should have dealt with you sooner. You may depend upon it now."

Darcy stood, and his gaze bored into the face of an unmoving and wide-eyed man. "Why are you in Hertfordshire?"

Wickham turned his head and spit blood on the floor. "I told you, I am accepting a commission."

"As a substitute for whom?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes, because whoever paid you to accept it will have to find another."

"I am satisfying a debt, refusal now is no longer an option."

"Who?"

Wickham closed his eyes in defeat. "Lord Tinsley's youngest brother."

"Then, I dare say it is an option. Consider the debt is now good as owed to me, along with another thousand pounds from as far as Bath." It was Darcy who now took a meanly wooden chair, albeit with more gingerly care than he treated the last one. His hands though were hard as his eyes as he clutched them on his knees. "Get up."

Spitting once more, Wickham stood. The only defiance left was behind his eyes. "And, you finally have the bullocks to finally call it all n?"

"I will do nothing of the sort. You, however, _will_ follow my instructions, and if not, you will be hunted down and shot like the dog you – a trifle more generous than Newgate, do you not suppose? Any sins of mine are easily forgiven; immunity in such trifling matters is a birthright – it is _I_ who am a nephew to an Earl and a Chief Justice – it is _I_ , as well, who has enough blunt to do away with you any way I see fit. I will rot in hell before I give you the further protection of my father's memory. I care to honor it no longer." Though saying it aloud felt as ecstasy, a pain clinched Darcy's heart, and he well-hid the evidence from showing in his stance.

The arrogant indifference Darcy heard himself speak aloud was familiar enough, but the cold-heartedness was not. Nevertheless, Wickham knew well enough Darcy did not issue idle threats, and even through all Wickham's worst treacheries, Darcy had never directed such at him, and so Darcy felt confident Wickham understood it for what it was. This threat would be taken with nothing but precaution, what little the man could muster from the remaining bits of his degenerated wits.

Instructions were thusly provided: "Take a room here and do not leave it until my cousin arrives to escort you wherever it is destiny sees fit to punish you. It seems I have decided you shall get a commission after all." The look on Wickham's face was not one of interest but an intensifying horror, and Darcy smirked at the cause. "Oh, do not worry yourself, I will ensure Richard does not shoot you on sight... though he certainly talked about doing so the past several months. Just do not cross me on this – trusting your chances to the French will be much better. With them, you may have a chance."

"You cannot do this."

The nail of confirmation that Darcy could do as he bloody-well pleased was delivered in the form of a casual flick sending a shilling into Wickham's palm.

The other man sneered as he wrapped his fingers around the coin. "Supercilious bastard."

 _Sometimes it is the necessity of being a gentleman_. As Darcy asked for parchment and an express rider, he walked quietly through the tap room hoping he had finally rid his life of what had plagued him and his family for too long.

He would go find Bingley and return to Netherfield where he could meditate on the comfort of a gentle lady with her long tresses hanging over her angelic night wrapper. Even if he should not, he would rest his mind in the delight of what he imagined lay below the flowing white fabric. He would conceive how soothing her supple skin might be to his raw emotions, how her lips might relieve his sufferings, what words of peace may she offer for his ears alone. And, when he was again master of himself, he would go seek out how he may someday obtain his comfort in the flesh... honorably.

 _She should be as safe from me as from cads like Wickham._

Shaking his head at himself and the wretch he left behind, he wrestled with just how honorable of a man he truly was.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Please note I recently posted Ch 8  & 9 close to the time I posted this.

* * *

The direction to the home of Miss Elizabeth's aunt was easy enough to come by, walking up the steps was an entirely different matter. Back and forth… to and fro, treading repeatedly upon the crude path along the house checking the time no less than thrice since his arrival. _Damn Bingley, blast his blabbering and curse his wont of pretty company_.

How the man could endure more than a quarter hour in a quaint, cramped drawing room was beyond his capabilities.

The front door burst open, and what escaped was all kinds of noise as to rise above the din of the street. He shuddered. At least his friend finally appeared.

"Darcy, what are you doing running yourself in this ragged manner out here? Will you not come in and join us? Mrs. Phillips has asked me to extend her invitation. She has tea and the most delicious biscuits. Come, join us."

"Faith! Are you out of your mind? I am in no temperament for company." Darcy checked the rise of his voice as he realized he was on a public street.

"Oh, come now. You have been spotted." He motioned to where several curl-framed faces peered out the window. "I promised to retrieve you, and Mr. Collins was most intent to be introduced. He says you are some relation to his patroness or something of the sort."

"You are by no way of a friend, Bingley. Entering that parlor is the last thing I wish to do. Suit yourself. I will return to Netherfield alone."

"No, you will not. As for being your friend, I endure your tantrums, and in exchange, you indulge my whims and attend me in my social duty. I am truly sorry if you are distressed, but as a gentleman, you can put that away for at least a half-an-hour, surely. We can discuss it over a dink later – _after_ , you accept Mrs. Phillips invitation, and _after_ we escort Miss Bennet home to Longbourn."

At last, Bingley made an argument not so easy to refute. One _Miss Bennet_ , surely, meant _all_ the ladies of the same name. The chance to indulge the company of one particular Miss Bennet –agitated state or not – and the prospect of the lady's hand in the crook of his arm as they walked the lane would have him endure all manner of irritations, toad eaters, and raffish charm.

He trudged his way behind friend and made the appropriate bows. Speaking a quiet thanks, he retreated to an alcove where Miss Elizabeth was seated with the clergyman who accompanied their party in the street earlier.

As he slipped silently in a chair, and after declining all refreshment and all other conversation in the main part of the room, he crossed his right leg over his left and leveled his gaze at the lout who was sitting much too close to a woman already claimed. She, of course, moved as far as she could to the end of the settee as she could politely contrive. As the widgeon leaned yet closer to the lady, clearly not understanding she thought him fowl, the clergyman abruptly cut his squawking, turned his head back to Darcy as if finally noticing him, and stood to flush himself. To the abject horror of it all, this buffoon was attempting to honor him!

 _Blast this bird-witted idiot!_

For Darcy, he had just made himself as comfortable as he could, and so, he remained sitting and not caring if the disgust showed on his face. He had no patience for an introduction. _Not today_.

Elizabeth caught his eye, and she tilted her head in exasperation behind the man's abundant bow. He hardly refrained in rolling his eyes in accord. However, when she abruptly stood, her eyes were a little more clouded and boring into his.

 _Damnation_. He rose and formally acknowledged her. "Miss Bennet."

"Sir, may I present my cousin, Mr. Collins of Hunsford Parsonage in Kent."

"Oh, Mr. Darcy of Pemberley!" This Mr. Collins fellow had the audacity to clap his hands, and it was all he could do but stare as the other man's voice reached to feminine heights. "I am overjoyed to meet you sooner than I expected. I shall give you all he reassurances your dear Aunt, Lady Catherine, and her dear daughter, whom you, of course, must be concerned with, were very well indeed when I left them not two days before. Lady Catherine, bless her goodness, was in the most uplifted spirits though she said to me upon my leave-taking, 'Now Mr. Collins, I beseech you– "

"Thank you, Sir." Darcy did not have it in him to bow in returned greeting to the man, but he did take his chance in walking past him and settling in his place on the settee next to where Elizabeth had been seated. He ignored Mr. Collins' confusion as to the seating arrangements and pulled out a small book from his jacket.

He was quite gratified concealed behind his book as the lady's scent wafted over him and he felt the cushion spring give way. He pretended to not notice the questioning, almost amusing look she gave him as she sat, otherwise she may reprove him for the smirk of satisfaction she surely did not miss. It was the happiest he had felt all morning.

Like Mr. Collins, but with much less awkwardness, he moved closer to the lovely lady on his right. Her proximity rushed over him, and he closed his eyes wishing they were anywhere else. Somewhere they may talk, somewhere she may lay her hand over his arm, somewhere she may give him all her smiles, somewhere he could shove off propriety and bury his head betwixt the breasts which tempted him even now of all places and every night since he had met her.

She was quite lovely in the light scattered in from the lace draperies.

Over the edge of his book, his eyes drifted down; the dappled patterns across her skin were mesmerizing. The sight was all pleasure. The tension of the morning began to unfurl as he leaned back for a better perspective. All his cares might be cast away as long as he may indulge in her charms. He would kiss every shadow played over her breast.

Perhaps he should write his housekeeper in town and ask that she obtain the finest Chantilly through whatever means required. She had a cousin who was a procurer of such prohibited things. He would drape the east windows in the Mistress's chambers with it and wake early every day just to strip her naked and allow the patterned light to guide his mouth over her... from her dainty feet to a gypsum hip… a high, rounded belly of his own making...

"Mr. Darcy, what say you?"

He felt his face crimson and adjusted his eyes back to the page before him which was jumbled with letters... not even having a moment to realize where his mind had traveled.

"Sir?"

He raised his book to his companions and disappeared behind it for a moment to collect himself. "Pardon, I was otherwise engaged." Since he felt too guilty to look at Miss Elizabeth, he looked to Mr. Collins, red-faced and quietly stammering. Darcy hoped his face was not as crimson. "You were saying?"

 _Silence_. The only sound was one of the younger ladies and the aunt carrying on something stupid about officers.

 _Tick tock_.

Blessed moments later, Mr. Collins had worked his way up to stammering.

Darcy could feel the irritation and discomfort settling back over him.

It was Elizabeth who stepped into the breach. "Mr. Collins asked if Pemberley's chimneypieces were anything to rival the many at Rosings Park, the estate of his patroness." She cleared her throat delicately. As if he had been summoned, he turned serious attention to her face… making sure not to dip his gaze six inches below it.

She arched her brow, and he fought against sinking into the upholstery under her stare and the flatness which filled their small corner of the room. "It is an astonishing coincidence your relation is also the esteemed patroness of my cousin, here. I am sure you may have much to discuss given your mutual acquaintance… just as I am sure you may find leisure another time to read your book, Mr. Darcy. Perhaps later in the day when you have an opportunity for solitude? Pray, excuse me, gentlemen."

He stared after her as she swayed away. How could she leave him with this inconsequential fool? Yes, he had heard all about Mr. Collins, and he did not have the patience for one more trial. When the man across him took a deep breath, Darcy anticipated him and stood.

For good measure, he bowed. "Pray, thank you for tidings of the health of my relations. If you will excuse me."

Stalking to a vacant corner, he took up his book, not caring he was not participating in the morning's call. It was not as if he wished to be there. He had told Bingley it was so. What man in their right head could go from dealing with the lowest of humanity to making polite conversation with a crowd of nonsensical people in the span of an hour – _Miss Elizabeth withstanding_.

Had he any idea of the curious eyes sneaking glances and wondering to his earlier display in the street, the shroud which hovered around him may have grown even darker. As it was, the disappointment that Miss Elizabeth had not returned to speak with him was shown not only in his haughty posture of self-preservation but in the light frown lines between his brow.

Chantilly lace was nothing to petulance.

Ten unpardonable minutes later, between attempting to call Bingley's attention from Miss Jane Bennet and staring at the back of Miss Elizabeth's head, he debated the merits of taking his leave. _Bingley be damned_. If the temptation to a walk a certain lady home did not linger, he might have made his excuses.

When the clock struck the next half hour, Miss Bennet rose to indicate they must return to Longbourn. He was beginning to see why Bingley sang her praises: in that moment of near desperation, she was his rescuing angel, and despite the other young ladies, he could find the merit in gaining such a sister.


	11. Chapter 11

**Recap:** Darcy can't control his thoughts; he spends quality time with her in a library where he thinks they have reached a new kind of understanding; Caroline is kind of nasty; Darcy has an unpleasant encounter with Wickham, and then he is stuck in Aunt Phillips drawing room with an Elizabeth who kind of ignores him and a Mr. Collins who does not ignore Elizabeth.

A/N below.

* * *

Much to Darcy's everlasting and longsuffering relief, the rest of his little party finally bid their adieus, kissed hands and cheeks, bowed excessively, and liberated themselves from Mrs. Phillips's drawing room

He simply nodded his head in thanks towards his hostess and strode straight out the entry door.

The rest of them, with all the be-damned merry cheer in the world, made their way along the lane leading towards Longbourn. Not so much of a relief, however, was the little, well not so little, parson and his continuing interests tending where they most certainly did not belong. That devil driver was most firmly attached to his post of accompanying Miss Elizabeth. Thank God the black-garbed oaf had had both hands placed firmly behind his back and not extended to steady her.

It would be unwise to strike a man of the cloth in his current disturbed state… _or any state… get a grip, man_.

Darcy was in no mood to share her attentions, and if not fearful of placing her in the middle of a tug-war, he would have extended his own arm. He continued, however, focusing hard on the path ahead, willing his own hands to stay in place as they were – it would be better to give Mr. Collins no example by which to go by in being a gentleman.

Though, he thought, if a tug-war over the lady ensued if both were to extend escort, Darcy had no doubt of his victory despite the other man weighing at least two stone greater. His own breadth was more of a firm manner while the parson's girth was more of the flaccid variety.

Not that he would even engage such a man in contest when there was such a lack of evenness in competition. It should be unfair and beneath him as an honorable man.

 _Wholly unfair_.

Keeping his grim, satisfied, cock-sure grin tightly under the lock and key of failing good breeding, Darcy held his steps steady to Elizabeth's right side, his darling Bess hooved along behind. As much as he attempted his focus on the clop, clop, clop of Bess's shoes and the pretty woman next to him, the voice which filled his mind was a voice made to beg bacon. No doubt the parson's canting kept his parishioners long in the pew until their puddings were overdone.

"… most beautiful little gardens, nothing to the grandeur and profusion of her ladyship's, of course! …. potatoes, radishes, and oh, my, the parsnips, the hardy parsnips! …just the kind of perfect household a woman of economy would find so splendid and dear! …dine with her grand ladyship at least once in the week, so fortunate am I! … so, many pretty improvements – the sturdy shelves, the adorning door casements, the large larder! …the benevolence is almost too much to bear, you must understand, dear cousin! …such an obligation to immediately follow her most perfect advice, you must understand…"

Darcy was at his limits of adjectives, flattery, and nonsense.

He pondered if Elizabeth also wished to take her fist to the mouth of this bramble-headed idiot as much as he did. Not that he would. _A gentleman contains his violence_.

 _Except in the case of the most extreme aggravations and insults –_ today there had been a heap of them.

The earlier encounter at the inn pushed his temper ill into a place it had not been three months since at Ramsgate, and having remained silently brewing since the exchange with Wickham, Darcy was losing the battle to contain himself. A minute later, the scale tipped until the gold gave way, and he no longer cared a fig if he was a trifle ungenerous to this insignificant man who would _just not go away_.

Sharp, nasally chatter had offended his ears, and he could take it no more. Darcy played a trump card in a very uneven game of status and rank as he interrupted the fool mid-sentence. "Tell me… Mr. Collins, was it? Does my aunt, your Lady patroness, the Right Honorable Catherine De Bourgh, allow you to always run away in such conversation as you are now? My God, man… no slight intended… should a walk not be silently enjoyed?"

The sputtering fellow came to a halt as did the woman evenly betwixt them.

Had it been any other morning, shame would have washed him down into the dirt for such poor manners before a lady. Would he ever learn to behave properly before this woman? Fortunately for him and forgiving of her reproofs upon some later reflection while lying in his bed alone, shame had no office – Miss Elizabeth could take him to task just as easily.

"Mr. Darcy!" She sniffed away in disgust… _of him_! She even deigned to touch the arm of the red-faced fool before she turned ready to unbraid his offenses.

And though her words addressed the most annoying man to have ever walked the lane to Longbourn, Darcy never felt her narrowed eyes leave his own person. Yes, somehow, he alone seemed to now be the object of her ire, and addressing the parson was only a vessel of her chastisements. "Mr. Collins, pray excuse our companion today. We must allow that perhaps his breakfast did not suit him or mayhap he has a thorn in his boot. Mr. Darcy, please feel welcome to remove from our company if needs prevail you to make your way back to Netherfield. If not, we appreciate not being subject to your ill temper any longer."

The fool was still sputtering seemingly immune that Elizabeth's censure had defended him so favorably. "Well… I… I… would never disrespect with tedious conversation… the great Lady Catherine – "

From a short distance ahead on the lane, mercy ensued. "Mr. Collins?"

No, it was not Mercy – Mariam, or Mary was it? Darcy did not recall her actual name but _bless her_. She had diverted them all by continuing to speak out to their group. "Mr. Collins, I do require your assistance if you would be as kind? I am attempting to remind my youngest sister" – and here she bequeathed a look to said younger sister which made Darcy shudder – "the correct mode of deportment a young lady should emulate, and I believe your excellent knowledge of Fordyce would help my cause, sir."

The stern young lady, who put Darcy in mind of a papist nun, continued her withering looks on the tittering Lydia Bennet who was just now being held by the arm. Oh, yes, Darcy had no difficulty in recollecting the name of that youngest Bennet lady who should still be in a schoolroom. He was sure half of this blasted county must have been subjected to her shrill trills and high-spirited ways so down the path she was to infamy.

By god, if she were _his_ sister… _oh, no… not going there… I am admittedly so lost, but yet…_ With that, he forcefully recalled his resolution to think better of _all_ Elizabeth's family as she clearly held them all in esteem… even the youngest, most scandalous one. Though, surely distant cousins could not be extended the same considerations.

Darcy's attention to those around him was recalled by a tension rapidly ensuing as those his party were no longer speaking. It seemed he was the center of their silent attentions for whatever reason he did not know. The unpleasantly large man even gawked at him, and so Darcy did what he did best in social situations where he was out of his depth. He schooled his face and gave no concern for any awkward silence.

The parson, for whatever reason now looking around for reprieve, complied with graciousness to the lady providing his escape. "Miss Mary, I would be pleased to assist…"

 _Aha! The plain sister is named Mary. I was correct_!

Everyone remained where they stood much for some moments, and further to add to Darcy's chagrin was the twisted face of longing the clergyman cast on Miss Elizabeth as he looked between Miss Mary and the foremost obvious object of his notice. Finally, with a sigh, the detested cousin Collins moved forward bowing to his loss.

Miss Mary now had Mr. Collins firmly in her control though somehow, she lost the chief target for wanting Mr. Collins's educational assistance. Miss Lydia disengaged her keeper, skipping ahead and laughing all the way. Fortunately for Darcy, the middle Bennet sister kept her grasp firm on Mr. Collins and bade him walk with her.

 _Finally_.

Finally, he had his much-desired companion to himself. The Oaf and the Nun were outstripping them by the moment, and no doubt Miss Bennet and Bingley were making calf-eyes at one-another somewhere farther up the path and almost out of sight. The Hoyden was now in a full-out run after the sister called Miss Kitty. This sister, almost as unforgettable as the youngest, fluttered off across the field, bonnet in hand… with curls which surprisingly looked like Elizabeth's. Where was such a young girl off to on her own? Why were these Bennet women allowed to roam wild trespassing field and path in whichever direction struck their fancy? With a seducer like Wickham and no doubt the ungentlemanly urges of an entire quarter of militia, such pretty girls should be kept under some kind of protection… even the plain one, although Darcy acknowledged she was really only plain by comparison. What kind of father would allow such freedoms amongst his daughters? He would never.

On a cool breeze, the decent of his own incongruity was swift, and he felt his judgement of Mr. Bennet replaced by self-loathing, guilt, and more self-loathing. After all, it was his own sister who had nearly eloped with a blackguard. _Cast the first stone and all that drivel_. His eyes closed slowly in his disgrace as he knew he was a hypocrite if there ever had been one.

Was he not even the beneficiary in Mr. Bennet's seemingly indifferent approach to patriarchal duty? Was it not to his own advantage that Mr. Bennet's two eldest daughters had been allowed to reside at Netherfield unaccompanied? What of his own ungentlemanly urges? God knows in his mind he gave and took pleasure from Elizabeth Bennet in every disgraceful manner imaginable. Her father would be in his right to request bloodshed if he had the slightest inkling.

Darcy was further displeased with himself as he stopped and stood in his own stew. _A shite stew of a morning_. _A shite stew of my own character_.

The leaves crunched up ahead of him brought him to his senses. _She_ continued walking ahead, and he stood there foolishly stopped with his horse staring after the hips he just lambasted himself for wishing to hold firm in his grasp.

Provoked with guilt for having no control, the words _damned siren_ fell from his mouth on a breath. This captivating vixen would be his death – was she purposely trying to vex him by not waiting for him? With desperation, he wished to speak with her. Was it not obvious? Now that Mr. Collins was otherwise engaged, had they not just cleared the hurdle of being able speaking confidently in each other's company? Had nothing changed between them?

Mayhap, no.

Surely, she had many questions of his behavior this morning, and he was willing to answer to what he felt he could.

Yet, she had the audacity to ignore him while at her aunt's house and then to leave him standing alone as he was now gathering his thoughts. _Contrary creature!_

"Miss Elizabeth, please, a moment, madam!" He was not overly loud but saw by the movement of her fetching bonnet that she had heard him. She still did not stop. He pulled Bess along and caught up with her finally feeling at liberty to take her arm to place upon his. The comfort of any part of her person resting upon his was instantly settling to the contention in his head… well, until she flinched away walking ahead. She must have thought the better of it as she stopped upon the lane again – just out of reach – to face him with fury in her voice.

"Sir, I will thank you to let me alone."

 _Sorry?_ Her words were like a blow in the gut.

Had they not become friends even two nights previous? Had they not shared some kind of understanding? Had she not allowed him to kiss her bare hand and keep her company most intimately?

"Ah, and again you stay silent and stare, Mr. Darcy. You must forgive me if I cannot place your self-proposed _shy_ nature at the moment, sir. You have been nothing but disdainful and full of temper this morning. I have no idea as the cause, but I do know I have no wish to be the recipient of it." Her words were quiet and cold as she turned her face and stance away to look up the path, unmoving.

 _No, no, no_. She had hardly spoken any words to him in the last two days. This was not what he wished nor what he expected her thoughts to be as he thought they had come to know each other on closer terms. Surely, she knew she could not be the target of his contempt. No, she was the target of every good feeling… even the most _wrong_ of good feelings. She would never be the target of his disdain.

"Please, Miss Elizabeth." He moved a pace forward behind her staring at the ribbons trailing over her should and down her back, his hand extended almost far enough to touch her shoulder.

By Grace alone, she stepped backward refusing to turn 'round to look him in the face, her cadence slow. When she took one step too far, his gloved hand fell down her arm before she could change her mind and retreat.

As the wind blew her scent over him, he closed his eyes and inhaled, deeply, as they stood immobile. Though it was autumn, she smelled like early spring – so fresh and vibrant. When he had his fill, he opened his eyes to look down over the rim of her bonnet thinking it might be the work of a moment to turn her into his arms. His body yearned to do it.

"Come, Sir. Let us not linger." Was it his imagining, or did her voice tremor just as his hand loitered back up to her shoulder?

Releasing her, they managed to finally fall into silent step together on the slightly uneven path. When he dared to test his restraint and look at her fully, she was staring directly back with both brows pinned high on her delicate forehead.

He smiled, just slightly. It took a moment or two, but her mouth slowly reflected the actions of his own – the corners pulling up just a small bit. If her expression looked a little awkward or awed or even maybe pinched, he could excuse it. As wonderful as her presence felt, she too must feel the clumsiness of such wild feelings aroused and in constant anticipation.

He felt the loss of her gaze as her eyes returned back to the path in front of them, but what was lost was again found in an instant as she stumbled on the exposed root of a tree. Catching her elbow and drawing her steady, she was his for a few glorious moments. The curve of her hip enflamed him, the weight burning into him and, perhaps, resting there a little longer than the time required to regain her footing.

Was it the sound of his harsh intake of breath which caused her to tilt her head, just a little up to him? Her bonnet shielded her eyes still, but not her perfect, tart mouth.

"Are you well?"

The lady's expression softened and at last lifted her face fully to his. Her smile, in the flash of time it took her eyes to flutter closed, seemed to relax. The crease between her brows softened. He searched her face, so close it was. There... there was some of the gentleness he knew existed within her.

He could kiss her – tear the bonnet from her head, fling it over the hedge, and kiss her wild. Kiss her closed eyelids, her soft cheeks, her delicate jaw, the place where a soft curl escaped down her neck…

Before his mind could go further in his imaginings, the lady demurred – bonnet much intact, and resumed their walk.

It was a merry dance for a minute or two to the tune of the fieldfare and their high-pitched chacking. He was too enticed to let the lady stray too far, yet each time he tried to pull his arm – and her – closer, she quickened her pace and dragged him along keeping a proper distance.

 _Distance is good. Yes, very good_.

Until he thought it was not.

Ever so gently, he attempted to calm their pace until it was non-existent and the space between them, side-by-side, was swallowed whole. Even on a morning walk with her sisters and cousin scattered about, her proximity was the delight which caused him to inwardly smile even in lieu of all his other jagged feelings of anger and self-pity.

"Surely, madam, you cannot accuse me of an offensive temper just now?"

Despite his best attempt at conversing, she dropped his arm and that space which had so deliciously made itself scant had reappeared to gape open again as they muddled onward.

Perhaps there had been a group of Herefords which had trod on his path earlier because what he had apparently stepped in was a large heap of dung.

With purpose, he ignored the tell-tale signs of her bringing one hand up to her temple and then the other to rub small circles. He pretended to not hear the mutterings under her breath. _What did I say_? Was it the suggestive tone he could not keep from his voice? Was it that every time she looked up to him, he was one stray thread of patience from claiming her mouth?

 _She is not the only one who feels the frustration of propriety_. It was not as if they could give over to the tension right there on the lane!

He did notice when her small hands balled into tight little fists and her stride grew silently longer refusing him an answer. She was huffing to herself now, and her little agitation became her – it was such a charming sight which stole over his better sense.

The provocations of the morning in Whickham and Collins had mostly melted away – they would be dealt with soon enough. His head was full of her, and he could do not but keep steady eyes trained on her from the side until a covey flushed out from the cover of a hedge somewhere behind them. He had a very intrusive but divine idea of hauling her up, finding the same cover as those noisy little birds, and experiencing the _flush_ of her.

She could take out all her little frustrations on his very willing person as much as she liked until they were both supremely satisfied.

Fitzwilliam Darcy had no idea how his small, self-pleased smile snuck up and soiled his face, nor did _she_ know just how close she was to being foisted over his shoulder like a sack of grain into the woods and field beyond…he could plow that seed until his own was spent in balancing his aggravations… no matter it was not the right season for sowing... the thought of something freshly blooming gripped him and he forced a very gentlemanly attention back to his companion.

Seeing Wickham made him lose his grip on every feeling, but comparisons swiftly chastised him; He would not, could not, be that cad.

Apparently, it was too late. Elizabeth's hands waving in front of his face were close to slapping some decency into him, but they did not. Not even her punitive words could fully dishearten a man too far gone who only heard what he wished and half-heard the rest.

"You, sir, are the single most galling person I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. Tell me, are you aware of how provoking your silence is? How maddening your stare is? And, yes, your temper still offends – I can no longer hold my tongue. If you are so displeased and taciturn today, I wonder at you escorting me home?"

Though _that_ was somewhat a sting, she did not seem nearly as angry as she had when Caroline Bingley displeased her the day prior. Was this what it was like to have a lover's quarrel? She only disapproved of his temper because she did not fully understand. He would make her understand surely soon but looked for an alternate, more palatable subject first. "Miss Elizabeth… I apologize if I have offended you today, but _pleasure of knowing_? Which is it? I find your speech at cross-intent. Are you really galled, or do you truly think it a pleasure to know me?" _I find it pleasurable to know you, you saucy, little –_

"Are you entirely serious, Mr. Darcy? Do not look so perplexed. Indeed, that was wit, sir. Have you have completely lost yours? In truth, I find your company not at all pleasurable at present. I think it should be much more pleasurable to beat you upon your head with a stick." Her tone was lowered to a whisper, but her inflection roared like that of a lioness.

He had misjudged her ill-content.

The way she eyed a fallen branch upon the ground caused more than some startled discomfort on his part, but he already now felt knocked upon his head and his good sense gone as she berated him.

Women were vexing, and this was the precise reason, he reminded himself as he studied the countryside beyond, he had no use for them before entering this infernal backwater. He was not sure what she was playing at being so cross. But as he studied the woods beyond the hedge, he could not help himself to revert back to imagining her kindness; he could not help but imagining her to cease worrying about that stick she referred to and whatever her displeasure was about. Instead, he saw her placing her hand in his and running out of sight, just as two people should who did not have a care except one another. No god-awful relations, no duty, no George Wickham. He wished to banish all further concerns of the morning and life beyond. It was delusional perhaps and most inappropriate considering he was the recipient of Miss Bennet's ill feelings and his own burdens, and this was why he should have never stepped his polished boot into her aunt's drawing room. He should have returned to Netherfield immediately after dealing with Wickham. His draw to Elizabeth had no merit this morning. His head was too muddled, and now he could only think of what could sooth his bothers – her, even in her current attitude, willingly walking off the path with him.

"Lizzy…"

It was the sober-looking Mary who called back for Elizabeth from ahead of them. She clearly did not approve of dawdling.

Elizabeth beguiled him with a look of challenge. "Come, Mr. Darcy, else I shall leave you standing here alone with your precious horse, witless and brooding. My patience is most thoroughly failing."

He dared to reach out his arm in the most proper fashion he could affect at such a time as thinking her bent over the trunk of a tree transferring all his pent-up energies into something much more fulfilling. She could go-on and beat him with a stick if she truly wished, but then he would take his revenge by exacting her pleasure and then his own.

He had to roll his eyes at himself for that ridiculous thought. He must really control himself, and it was not gentlemanly to think of Elizabeth exposing herself in such a place of discovery. No, bent over and clutching the poster of his bed was much better, and it would be more comfortable for her anyhow. He dropped the ribbons to his horse he had absently grabbed knowing Bess would continue to follow, and instead placed his now free hand over hers where it had found its way back to his arm.

Rubbing leather over leather, he indulged himself in his thoughts until he eventually felt himself rubbing his thumb up and down the soft skin under her wrist with an illicit inflection of pressure. Keeping his eyes trained on the path before him, he cautiously drew his wondering hand back to his side. _Oh, God, I am a horrible person_. _Forgive me_. _I am really no better than Wickham_.

At that thought, his involuntary ardent notions cooled to the temperature of the November winds swirling down the path.

Now confirmed as Miss _Mary_ , the headmistress in-the-making was glaring from not less than fifty paces. That one seemed more apt to rap his knuckles than allow even an elder sister to fall completely behind with a gentleman, or in his current case, a degenerate in gentleman's clothing.

Yes, he would think of the sharp sister's disapproval and hold himself in check. How could he hold his righteous anger for such a bounder as Wickham when he was playing a bounder himself, even if only in his head? Though unlike Wickham, Darcy knew himself as honorable, even if only in word and deed.

Darcy stopped his progress and then started again meditating again on just what the honorable escape of his dishonorable thoughts may be. _In marriage, is not all permissible?_

It was nearly a full two minutes before he became cognizant Elizabeth had herself wrapped her other hand around the arm she held, tapping her fingers and clearly waiting for him to speak.

"Miss Bennet, please forgive me. I am not quite myself just now."

"Oh, well, you had me fooled, Mr. Darcy." The biting wit in her voice did not fall upon deaf ears and keen understanding, but the fact both her hands were still upon his arm gave him courage to continue in the same vein without her entirely pulling away.

"And, what, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?"

"It would mean, sir, it was unwise of me to think – after coming to know you better… after… ah-hem… our lesson of billiards, that I would not find you as discourteous and disagreeable as ever. The other night was certainly an anomaly, I suppose. I cannot account for the differences." It was all said in a hushed voice.

His affront was momentary and all but pushed away by knowing not only that they shared a secret of a secret meeting except that there was still some need to oblige his pride and defend himself. He dared an offensive as he knew her volleys would be rather swift and aggressive.

 _So strangely appealing to argue with this maddening woman_.

"And, do you, madam, not make allowances in temper for the effects of one's surroundings, situations, or company? My morning was unexpectedly trying in the worst of ways you could never begin to know. As for yourself, you too seem ill-content and ill-tempered, and yet, I am not calling _you_ out. I comprehend and forgive that between Miss Bingley yesterday in the parish yard and Mr. Collins' inappropriate attentions in your aunt's drawing room, your usually abundant grace may be exhausted with no leavings for me, and I am not so ungenerous as to hold that against you. I dare say I even find you amusing in your peaked state. Can you not extend the same allowance and courtesy?"

She was clearly incredulous. _Too offensive_. Her hands had dropped away from his arm moments ago and now he watched her retreat farther up the path until after a dozen steps ahead, she turned around and marched directly back to stand before him.

An observation took him – that he would examine several months hence – that it was always two steps forward and then one back with him and Elizabeth Bennet in the beginning.

He felt the heat of her ire and supposed he deserved it for speaking wildly out of turn just now. And, if he were looking at her face instead of dropping his eyes to the buttons of her pelisse as they heaved, he would have found a narrowing of her eyes before they cooled into something more determined.

"Mr. Darcy!" His eyes immediately found hers at her scold. "Would you find me less interesting if I led you to that pond over there and pushed you in the water? Because, if you do not begin to think before you form the words which pour forth from your mouth, then I certainly shall carry my point."

Had she been any other person to threaten him so, he would have either turned away in scorn or thrashed the naysayer. However, her temper was a lure. Hazarding a step closer, he admired that indomitable look he had seen when she refused to dance with him both at Sir Lucas's dinner party and in the drawing room at Netherfield. His eyes fell from her impassioned eyes to her parted lips, and he wondered if he had ever been so close to kissing a woman. Had he truly already imagined doing so a thousand times in the short time he had known her? _Certainly_ , and he took pleasure in imagining so that mouth doing so much more.

In the most basic recess of his mind, where troubles ceased to exist, those lips knew just how to bring about his every invention of ecstasy, every instance of enchantment. The tongue which darted out surely did so not to wet those lips on this dry, windy day but rather to whet his aspirations. That same tongue would know how to coax his every agreement to whatever her desires were. How could she not guess she held so much power in such a small part of her?

"Come, Sir. The pond. I once heard your friend accuse you of standing around in a stupid manner. I can now share the same concern. Perhaps a good dousing will make you recall some semblance of good manners. This is ridiculous."

He brushed off her exaggerated attempt to pull him along. Her words were almost as effective to cool his head. And, as much as he would like to attempt something so enterprising as to kiss her mouthy reproach, retrace he must. "Very well, I will move along and keep quiet as I clearly cannot find the right thing to say this morning, and you may do likewise. I imagine your silence is perhaps more tolerable at any rate on such a pretty walk and less injurious to myself. We do not have to speak at present if you do not wish it."

 _No, I would be content to not speak at all_.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the pretty blush rise upon her neck just over her collar, and he hated himself a little for the oblique turn of his tongue and his daring touch.

Yet instinct would have its way when she bit down on her bottom lips – it was that habit of hers most to drive him mad, and he could hardly stand it. Yet, he caught himself and almost sighed- half at the thought of how they could enjoy the pretty scenery while _not_ talking, and half at the thought that Elizabeth Bennet had turned him into the worst sort of lustful rogue. He looked ahead on the path and took up her hand to lay on his arm. As he pulled his own arm and thus her closer, it was not of his own volition his hands laced over hers.

Yes, honorable he may have to be to save his mortal soul lest he compromise her right there on the very lane.

Close as she was, she did not have to speak very loudly, and his surprised ears heard her voice full of amusement. "My silence is _more_ tolerable? More tolerable than what? Pray, what do I dare take from such a statement? Can I infer I, or rather my conversation, is usually _intolerable_ to you in some way? No, do not answer; though I believe we may be something like friends, you have made me well-aware of your opinion there in the past – not that it affects me one way or another I will have you know." Belying her words, she squeezed his hands – with quite capable of strength for a lady – and in response, their progress halted for the fourteenth time as he looked down unabashedly bewildered as she continued in her impertinent speech. "What I do not understand, Mr. Darcy, is how you continually find yourself in my company. I am surprised that you would be _tempted_ to escort me home?" She then arched her brow stepping away entirely, finally smiling as she had some little personal victory. "But, then again, I am _only tolerable_ , and now you wish for my silence. I do hope you can bear-up the remaining distance to Longbourn as I am not so easily intimidated as you are well aware… although, if you do not think you can manage much longer in my company, you have my permission to ride as _vigorously_ as you dare all the way back to Netherfield, and I shall attempt to not wish you unseated along the way."

 _What the devil?_

There was a bend upon the path which all others in their party had already passed. If they remained where they were, they remained unseen from the others. It was as close to being alone with Elizabeth as he had been since before she left Netherfield. Being so inflamed by at first what he thought was her flirtatious manner only to have his spirits sluiced through what he now though her sauciness, he was wholly confounded. Had she deliberately misunderstood him? Taking up her hand with all the gentleness he could affect, he then abandoned restraint to all but lug from the lane and finally behind a near hedge as he dared earlier in his mind.

With privacy and before she could say a word further, he chanced to capture her by the shoulders. " _Only tolerable_? You stress the words as if they should mean something? Well-aware of _my_ opinion… as only _tolerable?_ Are you mad, madam? I have not implied anything of the sort. Though you seem to imply we are only something like it, I imagined we are indeed friends, Miss Elizabeth. I understand if you wish to take me to task for my inappropriate behavior this morning – I have not been the epitome of gentlemanly conduct, and I am sorry for events this morning have been in some cases not only unforeseen but overwhelming, but you seem entirely at cross purposes with me and wholly put out."

"And you seem wholly put out with everyone."

She was fully still in his grasp and immediately dropped his hands. He would have gloried at the way she felt beneath his palms if he did not feel he was too forward with accosting her person when he was suddenly unsure if she welcomed him.

"Your pardon." He stepped back.

It was as if she caught his uncertainty and became disconcerted herself. He hoped he looked every bit mortified as he now felt. He was no brute, at least where ladies were concerned.

Sense stole over him – though how long it would remain was indeterminate. "Will you please clarify for me, madam? I have clearly offended you in a very grave manner since you have left Netherfield Sunday last and am at a loss. You have my deepest apologies for my inappropriate thoughts and remarks just now, and if you hold Miss Bingley's insults from yesterday at my feet as well, then I understand. I am sure was too forward in my defense of you which no doubt incited her sharp tongue. I assure you I feel great resentment toward the lady on your behalf. I have even suggested to Bingley it would be wise for his sister to be removed to London."

He saw the blush rise again in Elizabeth's cheeks and could not stop himself. "I greatly admired your strength yesterday in the face of her implied insults. I know she harmed you with her careless words and ridiculous entendre, and I think I quite hate her for it. I do wish I had the right to do more on your behalf."

He held her eyes as he said the last.

And it was several seconds later he saw some confusion clear from her face as she expelled the breath she must have been holding.

"Now, how can I hold onto my umbrage with your behavior this morning when you go and say something like that, Mr. Darcy?"

"I pray you would not, Miss Elizabeth." Prayed so very fervently.

"Do not think I excuse you entirely based merely on your pretty words, Mr. Darcy, but please be assured I do not hold Miss Bingley's conduct in any way at your door. I am most appreciative of your support the day prior." He would swear his second-best hunter that her eyes softened as she spoke. He could not be so delusional. "Well, perhaps I do curse you a little for christening your animal with my namesake, but then again, I must recall you must have named your horse well long before you gained my acquaintance, so you are pardoned for that infraction."

Though her eyes did not hide it and her cheeks could hardly tamp it down, there was a smile under all that rising imperial nature as she spoke, and he tried to hide his own encouragement before he caused any greater folly. Yet, when he saw the full wonder of her open and happy mouth, his veneer surely cracked, and they both fell to light laughter.

The wind whipped up the leaves and carried away the remaining conflict.

"Mr. Darcy, though you are forgiven for the coincidence of your horse sharing my name, as your new friend, it is my duty to take you to task when needed. And, your behavior today was not at all pleasant."

"My behavior? Perhaps except for hiding you behind this copse and some improper speech, my conduct today has been almost blameless." He could not find blame in his interaction with Wickham. But, p _erhaps my musings have not been blameless – she could not wholly guess at the worst of my transgressions, could she?_

Elizabeth blushed again, deeply.

 _Impossible! She cannot know the inner-workings of my mind_.

"Mr. Darcy, may we please return to the path now? It would not do for us to remain here for much longer."

 _Oh. What a dolt._ Her sense of propriety seemed rather a confirmation she knew she was in danger of a potential scoundrel. Straightening up, he offered the courtesy of a bow. If he was going to be a dolt, he was going to be a proper dolt. "Yes, Miss Elizabeth, let us walk out into the lane."

She took his arm at the same time as he formally offered it to her… offered it from a great as distance as any matronly society judge would approve. Yet, so natural were their movements together, ten paces and that same matron would have _tsk'd_. He tried and failed so quickly, he could only hope to ignore the fact he was entirely defenseless. Every minute with her seemed a fortification lost.

Silence in her presence seemed his heart's most effective tactic against himself, so he spoke. "Miss Elizabeth, what all have I done to cause you offense today? I believe you indicated you should take me to a task. Let not it be for me to deny you anything."

 _There, quite gallant_.

She surprised him by merrily going headlong into a list she apparently had acquired since their meeting on the streets of Meryton earlier in the morning: "Perhaps these wrongs were not all done against me but my relations. I am, I suppose, disappointed in your lack of manners when in my aunt's parlor. Also, your absolute rudeness to Mr. Collins at every turn was exceedingly graceless. My aunt and this cousin of mine are surely and respectively within the bounds of vulgarity and excessively servile, but that does not give you the excuse – as a gentleman mind you – to sit in my aunt's parlor and ignore her hospitality, nor does it excuse your severe speech to my cousin. And your book? You pull out a book to hide behind during a morning's call? It was unbelievable."

Did she think he would not bleed if she kept her voice so sweet?

"By your calculation, my faults today were great. I can only say in my defense that this cousin of yours refused to stop talking. I thought the man might bowl over with his _literally_ suffocating speech. How he manages to take a breath is beyond me. He was also clearly was much too close to your person as polite and forgive me or not, his forwardness had to be checked somehow. If my rudeness gave him pause, then so be it. As for Mrs. Phillips, I truly did not intend any slight. I have told you I am quieter in company than is my wont… however, even that is only true under the best of conditions.

"This morning, however, may have been the worst of conditions. I did not even wish to affect my presence on the company of your aunt's sitting room in the first place, but I could not very well refuse the invitation once I was spied outside her door. I am sure if my very patience had not been tried in the most severe way this morning when I saw Mr. Wickham taking advantage of your acquaintance, I would have put forth more effort to make myself more agreeable to your family. I shall endeavor to do better at her card party."

"While I thank you to at least strive for some politeness to my aunt, I take exception to Mr. Wickham taking advantage to my person. Great exception! How can you insinuate such a thing? I was on an open street in the company of my sisters, and I just had made the man's acquaintance though it is clear yours with him is of much longer duration and not at all pleasant. Your behavior again was most unbearable. There was nothing tawdry or improper in an introduction, and you should not imply so."

Longbourn and the oft turning head of Miss Mary's disapproving looks summoned in the distance, and there was not the time for a long explanation or further intimate conversation. Despite the back and forth, somewhere along the road a degree of propriety was lost and familiarity regained, but it could not remain so for long. He would have to be quick in his explanation. He would warn her – above all the mere presence of a man like Wickham in the presence of a lady he favored should induce caution.

"I do not imply anything improper of accepting an introduction you in no way could know of being a tarnish to your reputation. You are not to blame. But consider, I have known this particular blackguard since I can recall my earliest memory. He is the son of my late father's late steward. He is not an honorable man. And, I would ask you not associate with him, nor your sisters – not that he should be free to impose his acquaintance on you now. But, in the event he chooses to make himself known before he quits the country, you must refuse his company and tell your father or me at once."

"You must not be serious! Who are you to suggest who I should associate with?" She pulled away from him in challenge. "I reserve my judgement for offenses against myself and my family – not offenses and dealings with people I have no concern with. I am sorry for your poor history, but why should I not judge a character for myself? You go too far and have no claim, sir."

 _No claim? I have every right_.

He would tell her so immediately.

"You are very wrong and foolish, madam, to give someone like Mr. Wickham any opportunity of a good character," he practically spat it thinking of his morning at the inn. "I do not go too far in the least, and I do not have the time or want for giving you a full explanation. It could hurt more than myself. However, Mr. Wickham and any who proclaim to be his friend are not to be trusted. Most of the militia quartered here should be held with a great of degree of caution before you go an make happy acquaintance with all of them. Beside this point, you would trust an unworthy stranger but not a friend? Even if we are only something like it, are we not friends?"

"Sir, with all respect, I believe you a gentleman and do trust you. But, your lay a heavy claim against the man, and the whole of the militia for that matter. I strive to be impartial until I have reason otherwise."

His patience was waning. She said she trusted him but clearly, she could not take his word at its value. Very well, he would speak plainly. "It is not just a _heavy claim_. It is the veritable truth. Mr. Wickham, and men like him, are dishonorable in every sense of the word. This particular man is a rake and a seducer. He is also a gambler and leaves his debts for others to buy up. He will lie, extort, and take advantage of whatever suits his whims. I pray you to use discretion in trusting easy manners. In the case of Mr. Wickham, I should insist further you do me the honor of believing my reports lest you fall at risk. He is not above retaliating against me whether through his own means or by the use of his friends which will no doubt mix in this small society. You should speak with your sisters to discourage seeking out the officers; I am sure most are honorable, but a young lady is not always capable of discerning the truth. Mr. Wickham and his ilk have no qualms against harming gentlewomen… Mr. Wickham himself has done a great harm against my family, and he would not hesitate in doing so again."

Elizabeth stopped their progression and looked at him with wide eyes. She was clearly shocked at his words which he thought she finally grasped were not mere accusations.

"Miss Elizabeth, in the case of Mr. Wickham, I can provide you with all the evidence at a later time. But, I implore you believe me. I have given him a warning this morning, and he will most likely heed it while I still reside here, but he is not to be trusted to stay put. And, it would be just as foolish to trust a large contingent of strange men who have no accountable connections to the people here. Please, for my sake, use prudence as you and your sisters saunter into town and charm every single man in the vicinity. You are just the kind of young woman a dishonorable man might be tempted by."

Her expression went from shocked to sour, but he was too impassioned to understand it.

"How flattering to my vanity. At least a rake should be tempted by me." Her hands were neatly fisted on her hips before she threw them up in disgust.

What was this lady about? "Pardon, but hang your vanity for a moment and allow me to be as forthright as I may possibly be: you are just the kind of woman to tempt a such a man. It may seem vulgar, but experience has taught me to think very differently on matters as this. There is no harm in young women being informed, and you should be aware of those who may have such proclivities against young women like yourself."

"Thank you for pointing out my deficiency, sir."

"Are you to misunderstand me at every turn today?" He now felt the urge to throw up his own hands. "You are not deficient in any way." _Except in understanding, perhaps._ "Forgive me for saying such a thing, but _most_ men are drawn by a handsome woman. It is only most are gentleman enough to resist or the lady in question is well-guarded against those who are not. As exampled this morning, Mr. Wickham – dishonorable as he is – sought you out among your sisters, and you sidled up by his side without nary a thought in your head to the damage he could have wrought. I cannot stand by as you unknowingly attract a rake at one introduction."

"So, I am the kind of woman who may turn the head of a rake and tempt him into his own sin. Can a man, good or evil, not be responsible for himself? And, why would you even suggest I am the kind of woman who allow herself to be party to what you intimate? A simple introduction does not always precipitate any greater intimacy. Have I proved to be that kind of easy woman in your mind? One who is not cautious in her dealings with gentlemen?" It took a moment, but her eyes went round as the plates on Bingley's supper table.

 _Oh no. She cannot think I blame any of her behavior_.

Before he could clarify, she hastily took a step back and crossed a hand over her chest. "I see."

The others were now at the park entrance and he saw his friend taking his leave of Elizabeth's sisters. Darcy's time with her was almost at an end with hardly a moment for more hushed words, and it was most unfair as he did not wish to part with such great misunderstanding between them. "Miss Elizabeth – "

"You have said enough, sir. I feel this conversation has turned most improper and not at all conducive for goodwill between us. I shall leave you here and send Mr. Bingley to you. Thank you for the accompanying us home and good day, sir. You need not follow inside."

He thought to himself as she walked away how monumentally he had muddled his opportunity alone with her. He also thought if Wickham did not heed the warning to keep to the inn, then he had made her quite the target. It was his duty to warn her in the case the worst could happen, no matter how ill it had just gone for him. He had left his young sister without the defense of basic knowledge of the world, and he would not be so shortsighted again with a woman he dearly cared for.

She turned her head over her shoulder as she pushed on the gate. Her appraisal was as if he was some great quandary, and he could not bear as she looked away from him, clearly unsatisfied.

He stared at her, and when he could not will her to look back, he looked all around - his following horse nor the horizon held any suggestions. But, his legs, immobile just a moment before, knew better what to do and lifted off the ground, involuntary without a thought. "Miss… Elizabeth." He bowed but it was done more to spare a moment and catch his breath.

She again was the one to step away, as he was much too close to her, again and again, looking to the loveliest eyes to ever torment what was once a respectable man. The questions in her expression now near ripped apart whatever it was thrumming along under his waistcoat. Without a proper thought in his head to guide him, he kept his own scrutiny on the bittersweet bliss which was her face as he chased the distance between them that he was determined to hate. "May I call you?"

This time when she took a step back, he understood not to follow but still held her face in his sights. Begging himself to be a gentleman, he did not do what seemed like the most natural thing in reaching out to sooth her questioning brow.

"Sir, I think you rather should call on my father, do you think not?"

The same thought had been rattling in his mind since she walked out of Netherfield's library under the light of the moon, yet the starched linen at his throat wrapped around his neck ever so tightly still. Briefly, he imagined himself strung up at the altar of the church in Meryton. If ever there was anything to remove the wind from a man's sails… _How can she make demands of me so even if I have them of myself? Have I truly crossed the boundary of respectability with her? Is this her concern?_

How could he not cede? This might be the only way to keep his honor. If she bade him to her father, he would do it. It was not as if it was not inevitable – he practically accepted it.

"Is this what you wish? For me to go directly to your father? Now?" He swallowed, and something welled up inside of him that he could very well be an engaged man by the end of the day. Lord knew if her father knew anything of their relationship or anything of his thoughts, Mr. Bennet would demand an immediate marriage.

Oh, how could he not marry her? Had he not only this morning in a fit of rage threatened a man's very life for just the impropriety of an introduction. How could he allow her to be tied to anyone other than himself?

As frightening as it was, there was much excitement in the idea of gratifying his greatest wishes. They could marry as soon as the banns were called, sooner if he went directly to London. Would it truly be a hardship? He really had no need for more wealth. Her connections were nothing to claim as beneficial, but _she_ held her family in esteem. And, if she esteemed them, then that alone would prove their worthiness enough.

If he capitulated, she would be twisted in his bedclothes and under him in hardly more than a fortnight. They could spend Christmastide at Pemberley. She would be his for every sunset, each sunrise, and all the moments between as he wished it.

The prospect of so much delight flowed through him to constrict his chest. He took in her sweet face, ignoring the uncertainty he saw there – thinking he was moments from clearing it all away – and drew even closer, extending a hand, and delighting in the smell her, of verdant spring which cloaked over him on this tempestuous day. But, just as he almost had a tendril of her hair in his fingertips, she tilted her head and looked away in what appeared to be confusion that was not to abate but still to be taken over a haughty, cold gaze.

"Perhaps there is no need to go to him right this moment, but if you are so insistent about this Mr. Wickham and his ilk, should my father not be consulted? It would not do for his daughters to be endangered without his knowledge. I would consider it a kindness of sorts. My younger sisters still lack the sense most young women should have, and I would not like to see them taken in by someone like the man you describe who only this morning was at liberty to even gain an innocent introduction. I may be able to eventually judge for myself, but the ability of my younger sisters to do so is doubtful."

He blinked a few times. Has he become lost somewhere along the way? Was she not calling on him to do his duty by her? And he could not comprehend her patronizing attitude.

"You wish for me to talk to your father about Mr. Wickham and the officer of the militia?"

Now in lieu of confusion and condescension, he only read exasperation. It gave a certain fire behind her eyes which set him aflame even amid the disorder of his own mind.

"Sir, was that what we have not been discussing the last quarter of an hour? Your _grave concern_ for the reputation of me and my sisters which you think we have no sense to guard enough for ourselves? Reflecting on my own recent behavior with a respectable man," and here her raised brow put the meaning of her previous words into doubt, "a man who could not truly be tempted if I were Helen of Troy herself, I will concede there is merit in a warning, but propriety demands you address it to my father. After all, am I not just a silly female who does not know the difference between a man who seeks to use me and one who might bestow friendship? I am giving up all attempts to find worth in knowing the difference and shall confine where I once saw the need to do so as now utterly useless."

Befuddled and stupefied, he did not dare run after her as she now stamped her feet in a march through the gate and up the garden path so out of his reach.

* * *

 **A/N:** I have been sitting on this section for a very long time! I just gave up on it and posted it. This little story started out light and fun, and while there will be some misunderstandings, this almost concludes anything so angsty. I will also say the reasons for the mature rating should be more prevalent in subsequent chapters.

Some things the author would like to you consider...

1\. Part of the point is to only infer E's POV. I will not share until the end, but I promise if we could see into her mind, she would think Darcy a strange kind of man who made her feel very hot and cold - she would not have any clue that he was ready to take her off to a little white church. I would be interested to know what readers thought of her POV. I am being deliberately conflicting about it... I think.

2\. I know I am the world's slowest poster of new chapters. I can't help it. But, I am not abandoning any story I share on her.

3\. I had intended to keep chapters short in this story but I can't but help to overwrite, and I was too lazy to post more than once.

4\. Thank you for reading.


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